Born to be Together
by indiscretions87
Summary: Chronicling the FerVid relationship since the beginning, from both David and Fer's points of view. I'm a huge Fervid fan, so without giving off any spoilers, let me just say that this is an angst-free zone. Consider it a post-7x07 therapy fic. [REUPLOAD]
1. Author Preface

_This fic is a re-upload due to demands. I started this story October 2011 and finished January 2013. More and more Fervid fans are popping up everyday, and hopefully this story will help you guys cope with the ending that we got, as it has helped me and the older fans during this fic's original run._

**AUTHOR PREFACE**

This will be multi-chaptered, chronicling the entire Fervid relationship from David and Fer's point of view. Call this an AU, a retcon, a therapy fic, or just a way to exorcize the depressing end of this couple from my heart and mind, but I had to do this. I couldn't let the canon ending for Fervid remain canon in my head. I needed to do this, for my own emotional catharsis.

I keep my respect to the creators and writers for bringing us Fervid at the first place. I believe they have all the rights to end this pairing in the most compelling way they thought how, but this is my own way of coming to peace with what we've been given.

(And yes guys, I know Fervid is not real - no, seriously, I know.)

This fic will contain gapfillers (things that could have or might have happened in-between scenes but we never saw on-screen), revisionisms (substantial alternations to scenes or plotlines, Fer's death being the major example), and colloquialisms/sayings that may only be native to American English. Obviously, this story is set in Spain, so please just suspend your belief and pretend that they're speaking Spanish and some of the terms/sayings/words I use have their equivalents in Spanish.

Like I said, I respect what the writers have done, so this fic will include everything that happened before and after the shooting (only the _afters_ are shown in much different context, as I think you can guess how...)

With gratitude to Antena3 Television, Daniel Écija, Álex Pina, Jaime Vaca, Carlos Ruano, Javier Quintas and all the other people who created, contributed and own the rights to these characters. I claim no rights to them, nor do I do this for profit. Consider it a homage.

As for Fer (Javier Calvo) and David (Adrián Rodríguez), I am forever in your debt for inspiring me, entertaining me, making me laugh and cry and feel all emotions you can think of. I wish the actors all the success and happiness they could ever want and I hope that in time, the love story that is Fer and David will be given all the notice it deserves and develop a stature that will continue to grow in the years and even decades to come.

No copyright infringement is intended, but reviews are very much appreciated. ;)


	2. The Beginning: David's POV

**DAVID'S POV**

When the world ended, it happened in the same place it started: Zurbarán.

I'd had experiences before - learning with different girls what after-school activities *really* meant. But it was at Zurbarán that I discovered who and what I really was. The kind of man I was.

It's not like it should have been too much of a surprise, now that I look back. When I was thirteen, amidst all confusion, I discovered that I really rather fancied dudes. That came as a shock as anyone could imagine. By this time life was happily carrying on without anything being really extraordinary in any sense, but that sudden realization and all of the possibilities attached to it made me panic a bit. Not that I've actually done anything with a guy. There was just that vague sense of attraction and curiosity, but not enough to risk anything for.

Of course, it was something that I thought needed fixing, so I dealt with it in a mature fashion, immediately becoming obsessed with the idea of getting into girls' pants. I know, most boys that age are desperately trying to get into someone's pants anyway, but there was a certain mania to my outlook. I filled my room with posters of half-naked women in compromising positions, borrowed endless amounts of straight porn magazines, and chased after girls as if my life depended on it. I must have determined that the only way to prevent my budding homosexuality was to purge it with a whacking great dose of "hetero".

Not that any of my friends were given any reason to think otherwise. I had managed to retreat firmly into the closet, locked the door shut, and nobody even suspected a thing. I was always horny, as most boys are at that age, and other than the whole sexuality issue, the things which intrigued other boys held the same fascination for me. There were even some days when I would completely forget about the whole gay thing and be convinced that I was a complete hetero. Because I really liked looking at girls, too. I found them physically attractive and it wasn't at all difficult to get turned on by them, but there was always a sense that it was a different matter trying to connect with them emotionally. I sucked as a boyfriend and all of my girlfriends eventually dumped me or cheated on me, and the fucking disturbing thing was that I was never heartbroken for any of them. Romantically, I was just never there.

With all that said, if certain events in my life didn't happen the way they did, I probably never would have accepted the fact that I'm gay. When I was eighteen, a lot of things happened that were precursors to that life-changing year.

Namely, I met Fer.

And the earth shifted for me. Honest to God, that was when the world started.

I'd known and heard of Fer for some time, going to the same school and having mutual friends and stuff, but we never really got acquainted properly. As one of the few out gay guys at school, most of those who knew him had trouble seeing past the apparently sweet and angelic face to the tough, determined man that he was. Only his close friends, who'd grown up with him and seen him fight his way past bullies and bigots as well as some of our own faculty's rigid conventionality knew how strong he really was. How strong he'd had to be to carve out an identity for himself in the place he wanted as the person he wanted to be.

I didn't have all that knowledge about him when we met, but I knew he was gay (everyone did), so even from the beginning, there was already something about him that I understood, something that was different from the way I related to all of my other friends. I acknowledged something in him that reminded me of me, and the more I saw of him, the more I had the sense of fear mixed with joy that I was aware of what our common bond was.

A major turning point came just the day after we officially met, and I saw Fer comically trying to play some PSP game in the middle of the hallway. As I was watching him, I suddenly found my thoughts and emotions rushing towards him. It wasn't even a sexual feeling necessarily, although I recognized later on that it was tied to my sexuality. Just seeing his demeanor, though, made me want to be closer to him, to talk to him, to laugh with him, to hug him. I think I would have been content to just stand there and stare at him for the rest of the day. There was something about him that made me feel good all over, that intrigued me, that tempted me, that attracted me. Things about him, right from the beginning, that touched some place deep, deep inside me, that somehow helped me to acknowledge, to find myself, the real David. But as that instant of emotion flooded through my system, I suddenly caught myself and realized what I was doing.

That didn't stop the subsequent events from unfolding, though.

It's surreal how it happened. How we were all drunk off our asses then Julio just fell asleep then I was spouting crap about going home then Fer tried to argue my ear off about it then I just stopped and stared at him and I could literally feel the universe change, the stupid electricity in the air. I don't want to say sparks, like what everyone says when two people meet each other's eyes across a room; and I don't want to use the words Physical or Chemical reaction or Fate or whatever – but they're the first words that come to mind.

Anyway, next was a sensory overload. Light and heat and a matching soundtrack as I pressed my lips onto his, the breath forced out from both of us, our brains trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

No one else ever had any clue about what those few moments were like for Fer and I - what they represented. They all just knew what they eventually led to.

I stumbled and wandered home suddenly sober but in a daze, feeling disconnected, feeling as though there was a veil between me and the rest of the world. Everything that had happened since meeting Fer whirled around in my head, sending my thoughts flying off on a thousand different tangents. I couldn't think logically, couldn't get a handle on what I was feeling.

I tried to burn my bridges the next day, acting oblivious and pretending like nothing even remotely close to kissing ever happened. Fer was onto me though. He kept asking questions about what I remembered, and when our eyes met, we shared a moment of complete understanding that scared the shit out of me. I didn't want some guy that I just met to be able to read me that way. It was even more fucking unsettling that I knew he knew that I knew. But I couldn't have some silly guy hanging around, thinking that we could be lovers; couldn't let myself think that we could be anything more than friends. No matter how cute and smart and funny he was.

So I employed the best tactic I could think of and talked about some issue regarding an ex-girlfriend. Instant major shot down for a gay guy, and I could literally see the disappointment on his face. I felt bad, but at least that got him off my back for awhile.

I was full of shit, of course. I had a wave of what felt suspiciously like excitement each time I saw him, and found that I couldn't stop thinking about him. That kiss felt like it just annihilated a fucking dam in my heart and all the years of suppression exploded in my face. It's like that scene in _The Lord of the Rings _when the Ents flooded Isengard...

Anyway...

Over the next few days, thoughts of Fer became a fantasy staple. I imagined all sorts of things which had no basis in reality - what he looked like naked, how big he was, what it would feel like to have him suck me, and what it would be like to suck him. The last surprised me, because even though I was very well familiar of blow-jobs, the thought of me giving another man head had, for some reason, never occurred to me. It was something a woman did to a man, I thought, and that was that. Yet I found myself imagining what Fer would feel like, taste like, smell like.

But that wasn't all. I wondered what it would be like to hold his hand as we walked down the road, how people would react. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him in front of everyone. And, after the slight belly touch I had given him at the school corridor one time, I wanted to know what it would feel like to be able to touch him that way as much as I wanted to, again and again.

I thrilled at the sound of his voice when we talked on the phone one night. I think it was possibly one of the few times I'd ever called someone just to talk randomly. We just talked about stupid shit, really. The conversation was short and broken - we kept talking over each other, and the excitement was plain to hear in our voices. By the time we hung up, there were butterflies kicking up a storm in my tummy and a smile so broad on my face that it threatened to unhinge the top of my head.

I think that sort of explains why meeting Fer changed every last fucking thing about me and my life. I liked him from the first time we really connected under that rain and I took him home. I mean, I didn't fucking fall in love with him that night, but I definitely did fall in like.

That's why I approached him as soon as he walked out of class the next day. That's why I invited him to play video games again even though it was clear that he bailed on me the previous night for a reason. That's why I was watching him in the hallway with a goofy grin on my face. That's why I later went with him and Julio to that damn party.

Because I sort of wanted him to like me, too. How fucking pathetic was that?

I know it's probably weird as hell to feel so intense for the first guy to relate to you in a real meaningful way. It shouldn't make much sense, and should probably be easy to write off as just being a stupid kid, but there's more to it than that.

There was a sense that even had there not been the common fact of our sexuality that we might have been friends, had there been any reason for us to have met. But, unspoken as it was at the time, there was that undeniable connection that we shared. The first few times I was spending time with him, I didn't consider for a second the thoughts people might harbour when they saw us hanging out together, the conclusions that our schoolmates or my friends might jump to. Everybody was aware of his sexuality, if not necessarily mine. So I just tried my hardest to enjoy our friendship for what it was and attempted to ignore the growing sense that something much more significant was happening to me.

But I was an idiot, and it all eventually became a huge pile of mess, because I gave him so many mixed messages that his mind must have been like a fucking salad sometimes.

It didn't help that over the next couple of days, people began to notice and question why I was suddenly hanging out with Fer all the time. One of my friends actually said that if I wasn't careful, people would think I was a faggot as well. I tried to laugh it off and started bullshitting about how he knew how much I loved girls' tits and asses, but deep inside, I was freaking the fuck out.

I spent the rest of that day trying to perform a self-lobotomy on my brain to keep from thinking about it. I tossed and turned all fucking night and went to school the next day pissed as shit and wondering if all the confusion was worth it. I sure as hell slept better when oblivion was the order of the day.

Fer didn't make things any easier. He got fed up with the hot and cold shit I was dishing and finally confronted me about it. Of course he knew I was gay, and God, he was relentless, and the more he pushed, the more I tried to resist, but the more I resisted the more fucked up I felt. Why the hell couldn't he just let it go?

Because he's the smartest idiot I've ever met, that's why.

No one could do it to me like he did.

No one.

No one ever has. Nor ever will. How the fuck could I have known he'd come along?

A lot of shit and drama and cowardice ensued in-between the days until we all ended up in some party at Blanca and Irene's place. Fer was pissed and disappointed at me for the whole Ruth thing, so when I saw him go into one of the bedrooms, I went after him. That's when another major turning point happened.

"A special friend?" he asked.

"No, not a friend."

We were lying side by side in bed, and the admission was so much stronger than any I had made before, because unlike simply stating I was gay, I was in fact affirming it. My heart pounded in my chest and my head swam.

"You're shaking." Fer laughed slightly, a nervous chuckle.

"I will leave Ruth, it's absurd what I'm doing with her."

It came out in a rush, I wanted to say it before I could stop myself. A strange warmth flooded through me after that. I felt suddenly alive in a way I'd never felt before. I looked at him, his eyes full of hope and adoration, and a wave of desire passed over me, washing away any barriers to doing what I've dreamt about doing since admitting my feelings for Fer.

He smiled at me, and then without saying another word closed the distance between us. His eyes met mine, our noses almost touching, and then with a slight twist of his head he moved forward and kissed me. I kissed back, then pulled him on top of me, and I could feel my hand snaking towards his hip. I pulled away, gasping for air as I caressed him. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I savoured the feeling of the first time I had ever touched another man in that way. For a while, nothing else existed except the feelings he was evoking - and not just the physical ones. Having someone like him to be intimate with me like that, to see me like that, understand me like that...love me like that, it was overwhelming for me.

For my first kiss from another man to be one of those kisses from Fer … that truly changed my world. That's the moment that all the things I sort of knew about myself came into focus, and I really understood myself as a human being. Young, maybe; naïve, and very, very horny. But complete, somehow. Those first kisses from Fer changed everything for me.

Now that I think about it, I guess my situation was more me knowing but still not believing I was gay, until I met Fer and then I was all like, 'Oh shit, I'm definitely gay'. After that, it was just about getting used to the idea.

Before I could even have the chance to do that though, the train got derailed courtesy of Gorka and his fucking famous blackmail tactics. I was back to square one, denying more than I ever did any kind of relationship with Fer, with added asshole points for all the crap I was spouting off to Ruth. I was convinced they both hated me and I was so fucking miserable I couldn't do anything at the time but cry a river in front of my goddamned mirror, just asking myself, _'What the fuck do you want, asshole? What do you fucking want?'_

Because really, that's all there was to it. But I already knew what I wanted. I just didn't have the balls to go for it officially. Not yet anyway.

I spent that night feeling like shit, consuming even more drugs and alcohol than usual just to live with the image of the hurt in Fer's eyes. That felt like the last purge though, because when I woke up the next day, I suddenly had a clear conscience and resolve. It's like some part inside of me just said, _'Pity party over, asshole. Now make a plan and execute.'_

So I did. I suddenly knew what I had to do.

The moment of truth arrived not too long after, though I remember that day as one fucked up weird assed thing after another.

I'd been working up to making some changes for a while by then. I'd just been dragging my feet about it; pushing it to the back of my mind with all the other crap I hated thinking about; telling myself that there was no rush, that things between Fer and I would be okay again, things were fine. All the usual shit to cover up the fact that I was still a fucking coward who's so afraid of coming out he'd rather go through life pretending he's still some hot hetero frat boy stud with his brains in his pants than actually deal with who he really is, who he really wants to be.

But it was clear that the longer I waited, the more difficult it would be to have Fer back in my life, and I couldn't let that stand. I had to get my shit together as soon as possible.

I arrived at school really early, probably the earliest I've ever woken up for anything. I was sitting at the cafeteria just sipping coffee, having time to think. Probably too much fucking time. Because all the thoughts I'd been deliberately pushing out of my mind since I decided that the time had finally come to get over all my chickenshit fear about being outed and once more be the one that moves things forward with Fer...all those thoughts came crowding in. Because I was fucked if I was going to lose him because he thought I didn't want him, thought I didn't appreciate him, thought I didn't want to risk anything to be with him. So I sat there and let some small terrified corner of my brain figure out how to get what I want, hoping to fuck that just thinking about it won't call down some homophobic ancestral Ferrán curse on my head.

I remember thinking like this:

_'Fuck! Why is this so fucking hard?_

_I do want him. I want him to know that I want to be with him._

_I just don't want anyone else to know._

_How fucked is that? Since when do I give a shit what other people think?_

_Since forever, you sack of shit. Like that time when Gorka pulled a crack blackmail on you that pushed you to act like a fucking dickhead to Ruth and Fer at the same time. That proved you were still a stud, right? And burst the bubble of Fer's little 'relationship' fantasy, didn't it? Taught him his place._

_Yeah. Yeah, David. That worked out real well. So well he started avoiding you and acting like he legitimately hated your guts for all the shit you were pulling and that was just what you wanted. Got your life back, didn't you? Except that it turns out the only life you really want is one with him in it. Which you're fucking up royally._

_But I don't want to fuck it up._

_I want to be a good person. And a good boyfriend to the guy who at least deserves that I admit that much; and while I'm at it I want to be happy and successful and hot as hell and be sexually active. That's what I want._

_So then the secret answer is to be fucking brave, let yourself be happy and just stop being a self-conflicted fuckwit about it all.'_

…that internal conversation went on for a while, and I remember thinking that I must have shaken a really loose screw up in my head from playing all the damn video game.

The rest of that day went by in a blur, until we got to the end-of-semester party shit after class. While everyone was having fun, it soon became obvious that something was wrong and that one of the restrooms was on fire. Fer being Fer tried to go all heroic and nearly burned his fucking hand in the process. I tried to help too, and when everything got cleared up, I pulled him to me and started reprimanding him about risking his life and how he shouldn't do that again because I'll die if he does and all that corny shit. But I meant it. I really did.

Because the Fer I was seeing at that moment was freaking amazing and scared the crap out of me. And I should have just pushed him out of my life for good - for his good, as well as mine.

But I didn't. I couldn't help letting it go on just a little longer, so for the first time I fucking kissed him right in front of everyone in the middle of Zurbarán. And all I could remember thinking was that we've at least somehow finally gotten it together. On our own terms. And okay, a kiss in front of dazed and shocked students after a fire might not have been a fucking bouquet of roses, but … it's what I could do at the time to show him how I felt, show him how I wanted things to be for us, and the way he lit up like a Christmas Tree on acid, he knew what all that was telling him - telling everyone - about how I felt about him. And he understood the message. And I knew everyone was going to think it all meant something. Like we're boyfriends or something.

And the thing was, we were. We finally fucking were.

After we pulled each other to one of the classrooms so we could be alone, he asked me what the fuck just happened and was I sure about going public and what the fuck just happened?

"Here's what I realized," I announced to him. He was very excited, but it was clear from my voice that he was supposed to shut up and listen. "I realized that I've been wasting all these time trying to fight you off. And I can't, so I'm done trying and I'm done pretending. This is just the way it is. I just needed to get here in my own time. My own way."

Because that was the time that instead of living down to everyone else's expectations, I got a chance to live up to some of my own expectations of myself. Not Fer's or anyone else's. Mine.

Some time later, when everything finally soaked in, I couldn't sit or stand still. I felt as if my skin was splitting into shreds and crawling off me. Like I was about to shed it or something, and some other creature was going to emerge out of it. Someone new. Someone who has a boyfriend. A fucking boyfriend. A guy who loves and adores him.

And maybe the new creature would even deserve it.

Does a caterpillar get a clean slate when it turns into a moth? Maybe. Maybe it does. Maybe it gets to move on, fly away and leave all its past and its history and its pathetic mistakes and fears behind it.

I wonder if it knows what it's going to become; if the process is as fucking terrifying for the caterpillar as it was for me. I had no idea who I would be after that day. No idea who I wanted to be.

No. That's bullshit. I knew. Of course I fucking knew. I was just scared I wouldn't be able to do it properly, and after everything that just happened there was still a part of me that wondered if it'd be better to try to run out of there and just take off.

But I didn't.

Somehow I didn't.

Instead, caught like that damned insect in a metamorphosis, I hung on and stay put while Fer and I drove ourselves into a new future.

Fuck! How symbolic was that?

The first several weeks flew by with an incredible sensation in the depths of my stomach that made me feel like I was in a constant free-fall. Fer's body, his gestures, his smile, his laugh, all invaded my mind, and I could barely focus on anything. I found myself constantly staring off into space with a smile on my lips, remembering Fer's warm hand in mine as we'd walked side by side to and from school.

We had sex all the time. I've always been a horny dude and have had plenty of action ever since I blew my load for the first time, but it's never been the way it was with him. Before I met Fer, I would get blown by ladies in the bathroom between classes, or fuck some hot chick in some party, but sometimes I would almost forget what I was doing. There were a few seconds white out when I actually come, but the rest of the time could be pure fucking boredom. I don't know if I ever recognized that before Fer. I guess I must have. I just didn't really know how different it could be.

Fer taught me how fucking amazing it can be with someone who knows all your sweet spots and just when to hit them; and somehow we taught each other about whole lexicons of sex that I'd never imagined, never thought I'd want to explore. We discovered together the incredible feeling of lying locked together, just rocking slowly against each other, nothing fast, nothing urgent, just this slow sweet simmer that we could keep going for what seemed like fucking hours, before we turn up the heat and let all that slow built passion boil over. Or how fucking amazing it can be to have someone explore your whole body with their mouth; to feel them kiss and lick and suck their way from your head to foot and all points in between and to be able to just lay there passively and let them, knowing that you'll get your turn, your chance to turn them to mush the way they are doing to you, sometime - if not today, then tomorrow or next week.

It wasn't like we'd ever really talked about stuff like that in-depth, or about why I finally decided to be open about us, about what in the hell Fer offered that had led me, eventually, to be willing to risk everything.

But whenever I talked to him; whether he was there with me physically or on the phone, just laughing about something stupid someone said (with our friends, there's always something), or making plans for how we were going to handle everything that our new lives were getting into, or just comparing notes on some dumb TV show; whenever we just relaxed together, I felt good. I felt good about us. About who I was. Just because of how he saw me.

Well, he also got me hot and horny as hell, and could drive me totally nuts, and got me to the point where I wanted to heave him out the window, and made me act like some lovesick hetero, but…that was all good, too. Because the main thing that Fer made me feel is loved.

And happy.

I tried my best to make sure he knew that.

There was this one time when he said that he didn't want or expect me to change in any way, but in my heart I knew I already did, because loving him had made me change. I had changed effortlessly, without even knowing it was happening because my feelings for him was so powerful, so all-encompassing. When I was with Fer … everything felt better. I was better. I felt more like myself with Fer than I ever had with anyone.

Anyway, making the declaration of my sexuality had led to the most dramatic possible consequences. I hadn't changed my mind about it, either - it wasn't some 'phase'. But nor was I ready to go down the 'out and proud' route.

Once, I experienced homophobia right to my face from a jock dude who used to be one of my buddies when we were kids. We were at a party, he was drunk off his ass and tried to give me crap for being gay and being in a relationship with Fer. He'd been a real asshole for some time and I had no respect for him by then. He knew it, and it pissed him off. But when he came for me that night, I clocked him and told him that if he ever hit me again, I'd fucking kill him while he slept.

It wasn't that I gained his respect after that - I knew too well what a complete fuck up he was, so the only thing he felt for me was contempt - but he knew he had no power over me. He couldn't scare me, couldn't hit me, couldn't threaten me. He became a non-entity to me at that point.

Oh, there was always this lame ass part of me that thought maybe I could change…what? Him? Me? The past? The fucked up future waiting for all of us? I don't know. Maybe it's human fucking nature to want to matter to your own friends.

But none of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that Fer and I were together. And we wanted to do that properly. With some fucking dignity. Not like two kids scuttling round behind everybody's back, but out in the open, with respect - for each other, and from people around us.

It had meant even more when Fer told his parents about us some time later. They asked him to bring me for dinner and when we met, they told us that they understood about me and Fer, and that they knew how important it was that I felt welcomed into their home, into Fer's home. Fer had never been so happy as he'd been that night. And never so proud as he'd been the next night, when he'd brought me over again and his parents didn't make any big thing about it. They just said "hello" and offered us both some drinks before settling into the TV room and leaving us to it, like it was no big deal that their son was taking his boyfriend up to his room.

I tried to trivialize it, but I couldn't. Somehow his parents' acceptance of our relationship meant so much to me. It was a big fucking deal and made me feel so special and happy, the fact that they let me understand in no uncertain terms that they wanted me to be The One for their precious baby boy. All that when I never even had the chance to explain why it was so different with Fer. I never got to put into words the feelings Fer had created in me that no one else ever had. Somehow, they just knew.

It took a skinny gay kid who was brave enough to fall in love right off the bat, dumb enough not to know better, tough enough not to let anything I did or said put him off (well, except for that small detour with Ruth that I don't want to think about today), and smart enough to know that most of that was bullshit anyway, to … make me admit that most of what I was saying or doing was such utter crap.

The thing is, I believed it at the time. Or I believed that I believed it. I honestly thought that trying to have any sort of real relationship with him meant dooming myself to the harsh reality of life as a gay man - the theory of reality that said being gay was all about getting your dick serviced by another man and going to Hell for it; that said the only things that should come out of your closet are clothes, and that everything else, like your heart and self-worth and happiness, should stay firmly locked in.

But although I was honestly led to believe it at the time, looking back now, I know, at least, that all of it was bullshit. Yes, I believed in love. Yes, I wanted to have it. Yes, I believed even then that I was gay. But no, I didn't have the balls to acknowledge it, because my fucking family taught me that no one, not one, was ever really happy being a homosexual, that they didn't really exist, or at least not worth of recognition or respect. That I'd sure as shit better make myself believe that I wasn't one, that I didn't want it, didn't need it, didn't believe in it. That the only hope I had was to find a way to keep going without ever thinking about it, because I sure as hell wasn't ever going to find anything good out of it.

But that was "Before". Before I accepted that I was gay. Before I came out. Before Fer became so much a part of my life that nothing was ever the same anymore.


	3. Reflections: Fer's POV

**FER'S POV**

There are things people assume in life, like they'll live to be old and grey and that their parents will always love them and that eventually happiness will come. And though perhaps nothing in life is definite, questioning the certainty of these things would be detrimental to one's sanity. If you sat around wondering all day about whether you'd live or die or whether you'd find true love, you'd just waste your life away. Easier to just close your eyes and hold on tight, because these things generally work out anyway, right?

People thought there's nothing worse than taking a gunshot to the chest, your blood pooling on the floor of a school hallway. All I can say is, it wasn't a good thing; it was terrible, but it wasn't the worst thing. The worst was being in a coma after that, people assuming that you were completely and totally unaware of anything going on around you. Unaware of the doctors informing your family of your progress, the nurses coming in every hour to make sure you're still alive. Unaware of the sound of your parents' voice begging you to get better, to please just wake up; the quiet murmurs of your friends praying to any deity that would listen for your speedy recovery. Oblivious to the silent tears of the man you love. The worst was watching your friends and family try to comprehend the possibility of your death when, at eighteen, you were supposed to be invincible.

I often wondered what they'd say if I told them that I could remember every last detail of my journey as I ventured over the other side. What would their reaction be if I told them that I recalled flatlining twice in the ambulance on the way to the hospital? How would David feel if I reminded him of the wide-eyed hope and panic I saw in his eyes that one last moment of consciousness that I had? Would it be so easy to look away when I told him about how I recalled the exact moment that my heart stopped beating on that hallway floor? That, even though I was already out of my body and only half aware of what was going on around me, I actually felt and tasted his lips as he kissed me for what could have been the last time?

I'm not sure if people even believe the fact that I was already pronounced dead and my body covered with a foil sheet, before I somehow, in some miraculous way managed to come back just long enough to make the tiniest bit of movement, a gasp of breath, so that the people in the ambulance realized that they gave up too soon and that I still wanted to live, goddammit.

I wanted to ask my loved ones if they think they hurt more than I did, if hours sitting in a hospital waiting room equaled the distorted timeline of what felt like a lifetime as I reflected on my life, my past, my future, my loves, my desires, my fears, my mistakes. Was their worry as significant as my mind being flooded with all of the good, worthy things, but also confronted with the bad, painful ones?

I don't remember everything now, ten years later. But I've learned that letting it all go is the best thing of all.

Ironically enough, I've also learned that the best way to do that is to go back to the beginning, when my life really started.

When I met David.

I suppose it's no surprise to learn that a little self-reflection can only go so far where I'm concerned.

I've always known that I was gay, having no memories of ever believing I was straight. As a kid, I had crushes on men, and though I was nervous about it, not sure how to go about it, there was no doubt in my mind, ever, whether I was queer. There hadn't been a sudden revelation either, no dramatic epiphanies. It just occurred to me in fragments, in a series of small, quiet realizations.

I knew it wasn't the usual thing to be. I knew it was outside the lines, so I tried to hide it for as long as I could. I tried to date girls, kissed some, but I knew I was kidding myself. It never worked for me, and I was stone cold to them emotionally. Now, ever since I came out, I like women very much. Some women, anyway. But that's because I feel no sexual pressure, internally, so if they ever try to come onto me from their side, I can just shrug it off.

It hasn't always been that way, obviously, but even as I did my half-assed attempts to hide who I truly was, puberty made the facade virtually impossible to keep up.

I made a couple of bad decisions that resulted in some painful experiences as I trudged my way through attempts at having romantic relationships with guys. I dealt with them and was able to move on, until finally I found myself in one of the best, most serious, most life-changing relationships I've ever had. One that involved David.

It had never been smooth sailing for us. Even the start of our relationship presented itself as complicated at best, plain fucked-up at worst. At first, I just told myself that there are things in life that some people are made to deal with. Like the bizarre desire you find festering in the deepest parts of you for a man that you barely know. And the fact that they could make you ache in ways that you thought you were already too familiar with, but actually had no bit of clue about.

When I met David, I mean...when I really met him properly, I knew that, at least physically, he was my ideal boyfriend. Everything I wanted in a guy. I guess he could have turned out to be dumb or boring or an asshole, but he didn't, really. Well, he had some major moments, but it's too early in the story to jump ahead with all those. The point is, all in all, he turned out to be an interesting, fun, caring guy with good intentions.

It only took one day of awkward hanging out followed by an aborted attempt at playing a video game before I found myself crushing on him. And it was okay. It was just a thing, just there, a fact of life – the sky is blue, the grass is green, I had fallen for David. I was actually head-over-heels stupid crazy in crush with David. Shit happened, he was a gorgeous guy, we spent time together, walked next to each other huddled under the same umbrella as he talked and talked and talked until we reached his house; he was funny and entertaining and an all-around nice guy, and did I mention very very hot? So it wasn't the most unlikely event in the world.

Walking back home that night after my pathetic escape, I scuffed my shoes in the puddle along the pavements and imagined that David was still there, tucked under my arm, talking about whatever video game he was obsessing over that week. I could twine David's fingers with mine, kiss his ear, go home with him...

I came back to my senses sooner than I would have preferred, all the while berating myself for getting so high over such an insignificant, almost ridiculous course of events. How crazy was it that for a moment I actually expected David to come after me, declare his undying love, and kiss me under the rain? That was just fucked.

I knew it was a weird, unexpected, totally random fantasy, so I tried to deal with it, in a passive sort of way. It was only later on that I realized that the one thing I never really gave any thought to was how David and I would manage to be together. Shit, at the time I didn't even know that he was gay, so it seems pretty dumb that I spent so much time deciding how I wanted to be in an actual relationship with David but absolutely no time figuring out how I'd ever get in the position of having a relationship with him at the first place.

Turns out it was David who made the first move.

It didn't take too long, either. It happened just one day after we met. Either David was gayer than I could ever hope to be myself, or things like soulmates really do exist, after all.

Or maybe he was just really, really drunk.

Anyway, we were at a party. It had been a long week, and we'd wanted to unwind. The whole time, the sober part of my brain was reminding myself to be careful, because David was sitting so close, which was more temptation than I really needed. Unfortunately, the sober part of my brain wasn't particularly forceful, and the way David's hands kept brushing my thighs was speaking a lot louder.

Fucking fuck fuck. I was tired and drunk, and my guard was down, and David had a smile that was causing problems for me. David needed to not smile at me like that.

We ended up getting really, really high on each other. The real reason why Julio managed to hit on all the girls and David didn't was the fact that he spent all of his time with me. I think we talked about politics and the economy, but we could have talked about Cheerios and his video games for all I know.

Some time later, we found ourselves on the bench outside with Julio passed out cold. A weird thing happened then that changed everything. One moment David and I were fussing about who could come home and what to do with a pissed drunk Julio, a second later he was kissing me like it was the most natural thing in the world. The moment seemed to stand still three seconds longer than it should have. I remember thinking it was so strange and feeling like it was the first time. Other than that, I had lost track of every sensible and coherent thought in my brain, and even the cold, clean air smacking me in the face could do nothing to snap me out of it. A minute later, I was still staring blankly at the space David had left.

Back at home, I half wondered if the whole thing had been a dream, if maybe David had never even been at the party. But I knew that was ridiculous. I remembered everything, in sharp, technicolor focus. It had been hard and quick and urgent and yeah, we were drunk, but it had been real. It had been so fucking real.

I had to ask myself though if it even meant something, anything. And if it did, where the fuck could we go from there? No way was David going to announce to the world that he was gay. I didn't even know if he was. And no way would have I wanted to be in some closeted relationship. I was out, I had already dealt with all the shit that entailed, and it wasn't fair to let anybody's cowardice or hesitance hold me back, dammit.

The next day at school, I resolved at following the classic advice I hammered to myself as I thought about David all fucking night.

_Calm down, don't be too demanding, try to come off as friendly and somewhat interesting, but not awkward or annoying. Keep finding some mutual friends and try to hang out as much as possible._

David pretended to not remember the kiss at all. I pretended to believe him. I mean, he did his best to be David Fucking Ferrán about the whole thing, but I had an idea that he was full of shit.

I didn't press matters though. I knew I couldn't make him feel or think a certain way. He had to come to conclusions on his own. And what good would it do to make him do stuff anyway? If he didn't want to admit it, if he didn't want a relationship, then there was only so much that I could do. I could prod him all I wanted, but I knew that doing something like that would just force out even more fucking lies and neither of us wanted that.

Later on, I even told myself that my feelings for David were not something I could act on.

I had a fair idea what would happen if I did.

Everything would be totally, utterly fucked. If David didn't feel the same, I wasn't sure I'd be able to look at him again. Our friendship, as new as it was, would be irretrievable. And if somehow he did feel the same – there was just no fucking way it could ever work. It could never just be sex, and David wasn't any good at relationships with girls, and I was pretty sure I sucked even worse at relationships with boys. But I wanted David, ached for him in such an oppressive, all-consuming way that I couldn't see it being anything but destructive.

I told myself I couldn't risk that. I wanted to be around David, and if I couldn't have him sweaty and hard and inside me, then I'd have him warm and goofy and playing video games with me.

You just don't fuck your straight friends. Ever.

There had to be barriers, walls, a fucking canyon between what I wanted and what I did. Just fake it, pretend those feelings weren't there until some hot, out gay boy came along and I could stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss David, to hold him in my arms, to have him close.

After a while, I managed to convince myself that it was simply because I was so deprived of the type of affection I sought from boys that I put so much into something which wasn't really there. Even though it felt like I was madly in love with David, I told myself that it was just a reaction to the whole sexuality thing and the dynamics of being with a man as handsome and sexy as he was.

We continued spending time with each other, though. And then one day, David tapped and lightly squeezed my ass. I'm not shitting. David didn't even seem to have noticed, but whatever. By then I was starting to figure out that David was actually a tactile, physical person. He liked to touch people, liked human contact. So I guess it wasn't nearly as weird as it could have been. Or maybe it was. That was the moment when I started to consider that maybe the barrier between straight-David and secretly-yearns-for-man-action-David wasn't as strong as he liked to pretend.

Anyway, here's the situation: Quino was confronting me for trying to hit on him in exchange for a favor with Yoli. It's a long story, and it ended up as badly as anyone could guess, but it didn't really matter anymore at that point. What mattered was that David came to my rescue and faced off with Quino, saying some ballsy and hilarious shit. Quino shut up and backed the fuck off, and despite myself, the whole thing actually made me feel pretty damn special. When it came to defending me, David apparently had no shame and no concern for rumors.

That's when the ass patting came in. And if that wasn't enough, his response after I thanked him sent my head reeling off to the moon.

"Why don't chicks tell me that?"

Pause.

Then, "Well, if you were one, I would have done you already."

_Jesus._

I reacted with a mixture of incredulity and restrained delight, almost hope. I think I even walked on skipping.

It was very nice, flattering and stuff. It made my heart beat faster and my knees go weak. But remembering a minute later that he was straight got me kind of pissed off about it. When I fooled myself for a moment that it was the over-protectiveness of a man towards a lover, I got pretty hot and bothered. I was queer enough to get off on that. But when I thought that it might just have been the over-protectiveness of an older sibling for his little brother, I felt the fast drop of my stomach and tasted sour grapes.

I thought about it for a long time, because either the protective stance and the remarks after meant nothing or it meant everything. Eventually, I just forced myself to believe that the way he treated me was nothing more than a friendly, brotherly thing, and therefore, I could conclude that there was nothing more than friendship between us, right? Or was that the difference between straight men and gay men? Was his behavior towards me just friendly, or did it mean something else, something more?

David knew that I was gay, though, so I was confused by his seeming inability to comprehend how his actions and remarks could affect me. Was he just teasing, or was his efforts to keep spending time with me motivated by genuine interest and concern? Looking back, I'm not sure if I ever concluded anything of any importance from analyzing those situations at the time. I think the only thing I came to know for sure was that I was a goner and that I was fucking insane. And when I kept thinking about all of it, I got angry. Angry with myself for wanting David and angry with him for giving me signals, for taking care of me, for touching me like I was his or something, for Christ's sake.

It was only later on, when I figured things out enough that I realized that David was actually curious by my very existence, because he understood, even if I didn't at the time, that I represented the very real affirmation of his own sexuality.

Back to those days though, I remember feeling tears sting my eyes as I started realizing the dreadful mess that I was in. If I didn't go ahead with things, I knew I'd regret it for the rest of my life, that I would always wonder what it would have been like. Knowing myself, my craving for romance, and my capacity to build lasting fantasies about even the most trivial interactions, I knew that if I didn't go through with it I would always be comparing every possible lover from then on with the impossibly perfect fantasy I would have built up around David.

But the problem was, if I did do it, I was probably going to spend the rest of my life regretting that, too. Always trying to make things into something that just wasn't going to be.

David kept up with the fucking mixed messages, though.

I guess the time finally came when he realized that he was treading a very thin line. One moment he was acting like he didn't even know me while his friends were around, then later on he was chatting with me to 'reassure' me or whatever the fuck it was he thought he was doing. He said something like he'd love to be alone with me, really. And that if I wasn't convinced, we could meet at the restroom after school.

What the fuck?

Of course, being a twat, I believed him and set my hopes up, waiting for him in the restroom like a total creeper. And when he didn't show up, I felt the hurt of a letdown all over again. Most of all though, I was pissed. Really really angry. I was seething all night like a fucking retarded volcano, and I knew that the next time when I'd see David again would be a make or break for us.

As expected, we saw each other the next day, and when he started apologizing and ticking off an excuse for standing me up, right there, that second, my brain clicked off. I'm not saying I wasn't in control of myself or my actions. I'm just saying, I stopped thinking and just acted.

I pulled him into the locker room, and right then and there, all shit got real.

Looking back, I don't even remember all the awesome ballsy shit that I said to him. But I will never ever forget the second David's hand reached around my head to pull my lips onto his, when I felt him wanting me, needing me. Because at that moment, I suddenly became the man I pretended to be, the man I wished I was, the man nobody believed me to be. At the same time, all of the bullshit facades that David wore were suddenly completely stripped, every lie he'd ever told himself and everyone was wiped clean away, all of our truths blowing up to the surface. For those few seconds, I didn't fucking care about anything. I could have whatever I wanted, be whatever I wanted, and nothing could touch me or stop me or get in my way. David kissing me that hungrily, as if he'd been waiting for me his whole life, made me feel unbelievably powerful. If I'd known Salva then and he'd been looking for a superhero, I would've pointed to myself and said, "He's right here, Salvador" because that's just how I felt.

I felt proud and hopeful and happy, but all things had to come to an end, as expected.

I knew it wasn't easy for David. It was dangerous. First came the meaningful smiles, then came drunk kissing, then came belly-touching, then ass-tapping and eye-fucking, then full-on make out mode followed by full-blown freak out mode that ruined the best almost-thing we both had ever had.

Seeing him making out with Ruth later that day was devastating. The whole scene was pieced together in my memory like a shredded love letter. And when David dated her for real not too long after, I think I almost gave up then, convinced that I could protect myself and David if I just let it go. Maybe in 30 years when we were older and better people, more mature – maybe then. When none of it mattered anymore, when nobody could remember people named Fer and David, we'd find a way to be together somehow, and then we could move to Andalucía and raise goats, or whatever the fuck. I told myself maybe some day, way in the future, we would stand a chance.

Or, maybe that night of the party when David went after me into one of the bedrooms we would stand a chance, because he was so fucking brave and spoke to me honestly and the next thing I knew I was on top of him kissing him for all he was worth.

I remember that night starting out shitty and dramatic and pathetic. I felt shitty and dramatic and pathetic, watching as David danced all couple-y like with Ruth.

Jealousy cut through me so hard and so hot that I nearly buckled right then and there. Yoli probably thought I was going to faint or something. That's how dramatic I felt. Not only was the guy I was hopelessly, sickly in love with running back in his closet, but he was draping himself all over a gorgeous blonde with a pussy. For five brief seconds I was so jealous that I actually wanted to be a woman. That was terrifying.

Yoli was nice enough to make me feel less pathetic by pulling me to dance with her, and that turned out very interesting. Anybody with a barely-functioning gaydar would sense how intense David and I were eye-fucking each other, but that made the yearning even more pronounced, until it all got to be too much. I had to get away from David then. Because I loved him. No, I was in love and in lust and in crush and it really hurt. I hadn't been that young, but I'd been young enough to be too open, to let someone inside my heart who would never be able to return my feelings in the way that I desperately wanted.

That's when I decided to slip away and go into one of the bedrooms, which unbelievably enough was empty.

It didn't take too long before David sneaked in, and as melancholic as my whole demeanor was, I tried to project a dominant and irritated aura because there was nothing more annoying than someone invading your alone time when it should've been clear that you wanted to be alone. And there was absolutely nothing more obnoxious than having the person you were trying to avoid laying down next to you and obviously not going to take 'get the hell out of my face and go fuck yourself, because I'm in love with you and I can't take the pain' for an answer.

Well, fuck the fucking fucker who thought he could fucking avoid that fucking fuckhead. That'd be me. So, fuck me, David!

I wished.

There really wasn't anything I could say to make him go away without making everything we both already knew completely unignorable.

Sooo...lights, camera, action!

"Hello, are you alright?" He started.

"And the Oscar for the most absurd question of the night goes to..."

Yeah, I was fucking awesome.

David had enough decency to act hesitant and awkward, but thankfully for us both, he stuck around. He sat next to me, and said, "I would like to talk to you."

_Everything is clear for me now, thanks._

It was the truth, so I said as much out loud.

David didn't budge. The fucker actually moved even closer and laid down, and I swear he knew what that would lead to. Whoever said that I was the relentless one in our relationship obviously have no clue what they're talking about.

He tried again. "Yesterday I bought your book."

"Oh, do you know how to read?," I replied in the best smart-ass voice that I could conjure at the time. "I thought you only read video game magazines..."

Okay, I was being really bitchy, but fuck it, sometimes a guy's got to ignore the puppy dog eyes and just say whatever the fuck he wants to, you know?

David could have sat back up and got out of the room, he could have sniped back with an equally dismissive remark, he could have lied, but the amazing thing was the easy way he told the truth. "Well, when something is interesting to me or if someone special recommends it..."

And fuck me, I actually got a thrill through my chest from that. Goddammit.

I couldn't help but turn my head towards him. He was too adorable with his eyes all dilated and his lips twisted into a cute little pout. I found myself leaning towards him and he gave me a smile then … not the blinding one that he wore every time and everybody saw, but the small, intimate smile that he seemed to save for me. And not for the first time I wished that I was actually a talented artist so I could capture how he looked, how it felt when he looked at me that way.

"A special friend?" I was holding my breath.

"No, not a friend."

That answer was either too vague or not vague enough, it had too many implications, but right at that moment, we both knew exactly what he meant.

He started saying something about Ruth then, but in all honesty, I couldn't really care about any of it anymore. No more words were needed, so I just let everything happen. I found myself in his arms, holding on tight as he pulled me close. I don't know how long I laid on top of him, just holding and kissing him, but it didn't seem long enough. Eventually, I nestled my face into the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent, kissed him there and tasted his skin.

Nothing too overt happened that night. After all, David was still in a relationship and his sudden emotional disclosure didn't necessarily inspire confidence that there'd be real potential for something much more than comfort to be shared between us. It wasn't enough to jeopardize anything when we might wake up the next morning, stone cold sober and freaking out because we were naked on the same bed.

At the back of my mind though, I was pretty much sure that David and I were going to try. I've known before that David was trying to come to a decision whether or not to really make the effort, but that night was the night I was convinced he'd decided. Before that night happened, I made a resolve not to back down. Told myself that if David really wanted me, he's going to have to admit it, and he's going to have to show it and he's going to have to fucking come after me. And he did.

I wanted to believe that I had the brainpower to figure things out and to understand what I was really asking for. Honestly though, I'm not sure what I really wanted from David then. Maybe I just wanted him to make me feel whole. Maybe I was somehow convinced, somewhere deep inside me, that the only way I could feel that would be if he loved me, wanted me, the way I wanted him. And no matter how many times I told myself that I was setting myself to disappointment, no matter how many different ways I tried to convince myself that I didn't really feel that way, the bottom line is I wanted to be as important to David as he was to me.

I thought I was finally close to getting what I've always wanted, but as usual, Gorka had to do his thing. I don't even want to go into all of that because it didn't really involve me directly, even though I was, of course, affected by it. But the whole thing was just too convoluted and fucked up and reeked of teenage soap opera shit, and I was having too much of that in my own life already.

Needless to say that David was halfway out of the closet when he decided to run back in...again, and proceeded to act totally out of character by being a bastard fucking prick to Ruth. At the time, I had no clue what the hell was going on. All I had were burning questions such as why David would come after me at that party if he'd just re-establish that nothing further was supposed to happen between us. How could he come to me one night and shake up my world and then just run the fuck away? What did he really want? At the time, I convinced myself that David was just probably glad to have met another gay guy, and maybe he thought that after all the shit I'd been through that I deserved a little bit of him for one night. Or maybe he genuinely liked having me around some of the time and felt some affection for me, but he wasn't really looking for a boyfriend or a relationship or a life with me or anything at all. He probably wasn't thinking much past, "Fer good. Me like Fer."

Some days it really pissed me off. I'd be in the middle of a class, and I'd be so irritated that I'd be tempted to excuse myself just to track David down and give him the hugest fucking piece of my mind for being such a lame-ass tool about all of it. When I saw him one day, though, I understood that his fear about being outed and guilt for all the shit he was pulling was messing him up.

But that wasn't enough to make me back down. There was simply no excuse for hurting another person so purposefully. In the end, I decided that the next time David came looking for me to unload some sexual tension, I was going to put a stop to it, tell him it wasn't going to play out anymore.

And let the chips fucking fall.

One time he caught me in the restroom. He just stood there at the doorway the whole time I was washing my hands. Finally he muttered, "I kept calling you. I was worried when you wouldn't answer your phone. I thought you might have hurt yourself."

I smirked. "You think I'm going to kill myself because you have a girlfriend? Get over yourself."

He kept standing there just looking at me, until I threw my arms wide in frustration. "What the fuck do you want, David?"

Finally he walked up and stood next to me at the sink. He looked hopeful, worried and terrified all at once. "I wanted to-" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "God, this sounds so much stupider today."

"Just spit it out."

"It made so much sense last night."

"That's because you were high as shit. So, just tell me and be done with it."

He took a deep breath. "Fer, I don't want to be beating around the bush about what I feel. If anybody on the planet understands what I'm going through, it's you. And I don't know how shitty your day was or how pissed at me you think you are or how fucking lame you've decided I am. I just want to say I'm sorry, and I mean it."

What the fuck could I say to that? I couldn't think of anything, so I just stared at him, all the while fighting the urge to reach out and pull him to me, to coddle and kiss him, to remind him that I was desperately, sickly in love with him.

Instead I steeled myself, shook my head, turned my back, and stalked out of the bathroom. Who knows what could have happened if I stayed and managed to get an appropriate - or inappropriate - response, but whatever. It doesn't matter, because things worked themselves out the next day.

Long story short: we were having a school event, Alma's batshit insane crazy lesbian lover went batshit insane crazy and set one of the ladies' restrooms on fire, some mayhem ensued, and David and I kissed each other in front of the whole world.

I didn't know how to feel it. I didn't know if I could feel it. It was...too much. Too everything.

David was there, kissing me in front of everyone, and that's all.

That's all.

Before I could say anything, David looked up at me and smiled, and there was something in his smile … some sweetness … some glimpse of a happiness that I knew he'd never ever expected to find with me that sealed my mouth shut and gave me the resolve to pull him up for another kiss, because we knew in that moment, we knew that we were both where we wanted to be and that neither of us was questioning it.

The feeling that flooded through me, flooded the whole world it felt like, was overwhelming, and that was one of the most amazing moments of my entire life. The whole world seemed to change in that moment - as if somehow David, and by extension, that somehow included me as well, was given some whole new identity.

We both came back down to earth long enough to sneak into one of the empty classrooms, and there, I sort of lit up at him for going from 0 to a thousand in less than half a day. I immediately shut up though because suddenly he was saying all kinds of things, like the fact that as far as he was concerned, things were the way they were supposed to be, that he didn't want to fight and pretend anymore, that he finally found the time and the way to clear everything up within himself and to express it in front of everyone. The whole time I just listened and stared at him, because I wasn't sure what I was really expecting to hear from him - not total gut-wrenching honesty, that's for sure. But then he took my chin in his hand and said, "Fer," and I swear to God, he could have stopped right there because all I ever needed to hear from him he said to me in the way he spoke my name.

But he was on a roll. He told me I was the one he'd been thinking of the whole time, the one he'd been terrified of losing. Told me all the things I'd stopped waiting for him to say, all the things I'd convinced myself I didn't need to hear from him. But when he said them, I knew how wrong I'd been, because it mattered. It turned my personal world around in ways no damned fire ever could.

David was such a fucking mystery to me as he stood there, looking totally vulnerable and impenetrable all at once; seeming open, yet somehow cooled off, acting brave when he had to be as fucking terrified as he'd never been in his whole life. But despite everything, despite every risk, every fucking piece of reason to do the contrary, there he stood, willing to try.

I saw David clearly for a moment then - all his defenses down, no barriers, no bullshit - just David. And that was it for me. Because David himself, the inner core of him was … beautiful. Not the way he's beautiful on the outside, all swagger and confidence and sheer sex and charisma. On the inside he's beautiful in a different way - more tentative, much less assured, much, much more vulnerable. But … something in him glowed. There was something in him that was …

Well, David. That's all.

Then he held me. Just held me, while around me, and inside me, the world changed shape.

I loved him so much in that moment that my heart hurt and I wanted to cry at the same time.

I also felt like dancing or singing or flying or any other clichéd idea of what happy feels like.

I suppose another guy might have played it more coolly, might have resisted showing his hand so early in the game, but how I felt about David had never been something that I wanted to hide, it had never been something that I was afraid of showing the world. David may have come to me sooner than I expected after all the drama of the previous days, but my answer had been cast in stone long, long before he ever even gave thought to a possible relationship between us. So I answered him in a voice as strong and determined as I'd ever used before. "Okay, let's try."

Who knows how long we would have crept toward reconciliation, but there was such an air of inevitability in the air that all the talk started to seem redundant. How much more could we possibly clarify? Why not just fucking live it and seal up the cracks and fissures as they appeared?

But I admit that it scared me shitless. Because at that moment I knew that the reins of our entwined lives were in both of our hands and that I must do my part not to fuck things up.

There have been so many ups and downs, so many things that have messed things up between David and I at various times, and it didn't help that we were so young; or that I carried around so much baggage that I probably didn't even know about before he even met me. But I knew there were times when actions truly did speak louder than words, especially where David was concerned, and that day he shouted from the rooftops how much things have changed between us, how much he wanted to be with me. So I concentrated on making sure that my actions spoke just as loudly. Not just about what it meant to me that he kissed me in front of the whole world, but about how it affected the way I saw our relationship. That day was a milestone for me in really believing that David believed in us, that David was willing to fight for us, to put us first; that David really wanted us. I guess I've always known that he wanted me. But understanding that he wanted us to work as much as I did, that was new. I think that's what I've always wondered about. And then, all of a sudden, it was very clear to me.

I was a bit paranoid the first few weeks into our relationship. I had that nagging concern that maybe once David figured out what being with another guy was really like, he'd back away.

I should have known better. After we officially got together, David had committed himself to a full exploration of love between men - with the smallest amount of freak-out that one could expect from a guy who was just coming out of the closet. But he did everything I knew he was capable of and opened up his heart and bared his soul to me and never looked back.

It got easier from there, and I'm happy to reflect on the fact that the honeymoon phase of our relationship actually lasted a good while. It still holds some of the best memories of my life. Those moments when we were so fucking in love, and we were happy about it, and we both knew that. Those moments when I really felt like David and I were…untouchable, when I just couldn't conceive of anything else messing with us. Those moments when we were both ready to see what came next without being in turmoil over it, to take some next step into our future and give ourselves a way to live out the love we had for each other with courage and joy.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always peachy. On a bad day we could shred each other just with a look, and there was nothing either of us could do about that. The thing is, when things were tough with David, they were really tough.

But when things were good with David, they were better than great. I don't mean when things were spectacularly fucking wonderful. I'm talking about just ordinary everyday good. Most days when we were just going about our lives, it was pretty amazing. We never had a lull in conversation, never had a dull moment, never had an uncomfortable silence. We always had a fucking great time with each other no matter what we were doing. There were millions of things David could say or do that would make an okay day out of an otherwise shitty one. All the time, every fucking day, there was nothing so breathtaking as David with his head back, laughing at full tilt. Swear to God, when I died, that was the fucking soundtrack in heaven.

Looking back now, I know that I didn't sit there and think, _'Fuck, I'm so happy today. I really am a lucky little shit.'_ But maybe I should have. Because I think maybe life isn't like that for most people. Most people don't get to share their lives with someone who loves and adores them in equal terms.

I did. And I hoped that David did too. That he knew that he felt that he did, I mean. Because we really were amazing.

David treated me, if not as an equal, then at least as another man. So, for him, with him, I always tried to be one. More, I was always free to be one. Not tied down by everyone else's image of me as the sweet gentle feminine Fer. That isn't how he saw me. And through his eyes, I saw something in myself that no one else let me see. I saw someone strong and determined and confident, and that gave me a belief in myself that I guess I'd never really had until then.

And his kisses...I can't explain what it is about David's kisses. It's partly the technique, I guess. I mean, anything he does with his mouth or tongue is incredible; kissing among the rest. And it's partly his David-taste: I would know that taste anywhere; cigarettes and coffee and the deep mint toothpaste he uses; and David. And part of it was just his mouth. He has the most amazing mouth - made for kissing.

But there was something else. It's as if all the things that he couldn't say, no matter how much he wanted to, were somehow there in his kisses. All the 'you're so amazing', all the 'you're so hot's, all the 'I want you's. They were all there in his kisses.

The sex was both intense and leisured. I felt as if we had lifetimes to explore each other's bodies, but at the same time, as if every new touch, every fresh bit of skin uncovered was so amazing that we would remember it forever.

I've read a hundred eloquent descriptions of sex. I enjoy phrases and words like taut muscle, wet trails, deep pull, hard thrust, burning need, skin on fire, hiss, buck, suck, lick, bite, burn, sweat, slick, moan, rock, shake, earth shatter, edge of oblivion and on and on. All of it can make your gut tingle when the words are strung together in the right order and when the emotion is conveyed in the right manner.

I could be mechanical and say he fucked me and I fucked him and there was dick sucking and a lot of moaning and groaning and sweating. But, that doesn't do us justice. The problem is, I'm not a decent storyteller, and I couldn't possibly begin to tell you how our sex life was like. An attempt at a verbal retelling just waters it down and makes it something it wasn't – ordinary.

The simple truth is that David was a man born to fuck. He liked sex as much as I did; and when it was fueled by all the things that were between us - all the passion and tenderness, the pain and the fear and the anger and the joy and the need …then it's fucking explosive. Or so tender it made me ache inside. Or both - sometimes at the same time. It's not only the technique, but the whole experience - the flavor, the mood of the encounter was as much a part of it as the actual act. It could be teasing or playful, reverent, rollicking, dangerous, borderline aggressive. David could read my mood and enhance it, intensify it, reflect it, encourage it. I never walked away thinking he could have given me more because no matter what we did, I got all of him, every last remnant of him. It was all mine. He was all mine. It was everything I never thought I'd experience with anyone and suddenly I couldn't imagine life without it; didn't want to imagine it.

I knew that David loved me the whole time. I knew during the breathtaking highs of our relationship, and I knew during the soul-crushing lows. It showed in the way he looked at me, and in the things he did for me.

There was this particular time when we were both in a sentimental mood trying to find a song that best described our relationship and our feelings for each other. It probably seems dumb to get excited about things like that, but I did. It took a while to find the perfect song, but David never gave up, always saying that we would eventually find it next time. That was another thing. Whenever David said "next time," I got sort of a flutter in my stomach, because whatever we were doing, we're going to be doing it again. I loved that.

If I were writing a screenplay, this would be a good place to roll the credits. Let everyone tromp back home with visions of two beautiful men waltzing through life without another care. No hair out of place, not a line on their faces, not a tear to be shed. In most stories, this is where the happily-ever-after part would start, and I really wish it was, but it wasn't like that at all.

Suffice to say that comparing our relationship to a rollercoaster ride from then on would be a very apt description, and it will take a lot of time and resolve to reflect back on those times. Again. I already went through the experiences once during my coma, seeing and feeling everything from all possible angles and perspectives, and I can say that it was one of the most beautiful and painful things I've ever had to endure. Doing so made me see and understand things in such a mind-blowing way, and later, I will try to come back to them and relive everything all over again.

I only hope I'll have the strength to do so.


	4. Acts: David's POV

**A/N:** This chapter consists of Seasons 4-6 from David's point of view. It took forever to write, as I had to go back and re-watch the show in order to get into as close an interpretation as I could get to where David's head was the entire time. I also had to take a break lots of times, because some parts were just too intense and personal and actually hurt to re-watch and write scenes for. The only thing that kept me going was my unwavering faith that David and Fer really did love each other as much as they claimed, despite all the shit they were putting each other through. This couple is just OTP, yo!

Watching _Física o Química_ or at least being familiar with Fer and David's storylines is recommended for anyone who wants to make sense of this long-ass fic. My stories make references to their canon scenes, but to escape redundancy, I decided not to elaborate on them, and instead tried my hands on going into their heads and interpreting their actions. And as I mentioned earlier, my fics contain a lot of gapfillers, so knowing what's canon and what's not will probably make some difference. I doubt this fic can enlighten anyone who's only familiar with Fer and David from pictures and video compilations.

With all that said, I humbly submit thus.

* * *

**DAVID'S POV**

Lots of times I'll sit and ponder just what the hell it is about me and Fer. Like, what it is that he has over me that's got me so tight in his binds and him in mine. Doesn't matter what the occasion, whether he's pissed me off so badly that I'm reduced to doing nothing else but quietly and intensely seething on the inside, or he's crazily furious with me for something or other and stomped out, telling me to be gone from his life.

Yeah, right.

I remember the first time, that first night we made a real connection under that rain. I was so totally gone on my obsession with video games and was probably subconsciously using it as a reason or an excuse to forget that I even had a girlfriend. Because I wanted something else. Something more. Then Fer came along. And before I even realized what was happening, I was already forcing myself into his life. From about 3:30PM of that day to present time…there's been me. No matter what anyone says, I was here. I've been here.

Fer grabbed me by the balls and made me come to him. It took a while and we had to go through a lot of drama, but I eventually came of my own volition. And while I was here, it became my everywhere. Willingly and anxiously wanting it all.

We're telling the truth now, right? I guess we are, even though my only audience are the chatty voices in my head.

When searching for reasons why I'm unable to kick this horrendous addiction, I remember the days after Fer and I got together. Then there was more of what we are, this animalistic, unrelenting, unrepenting *thing*, that we became. What we are, will be always.

Fer was magnificent and incredibly wonderful. He was a great friend. He cared about shit. He was hot and funny and smart and forgiving, as well as passionate and affectionate and compassionate. He was a voice of reason, and many times he made a lot of sense, except when he didn't, but whatever. I was in love. In lust. Infatuated. Obsessed. Completely fucking gone from there on out. A total sucker for all that was Fernando Redondo. I was defenseless and we both loved it and worked it and counted on it.

While he was my everywhere and everything, I can honestly say that there were times that I've tried to kick the habit. Obviously, they were unsuccessful, and I'm ashamed to admit it now, because how could I have possibly even thought about giving up on all this? All this that is trying and exciting, ruthless and serene and torturous, beautiful and crazy to the point of insanity? It's us.

You see, I cannot be without Fer. He's my air. Man, that's corny. Anyways, these are my voices...the blood pumping through my veins. Fer carries me through it all, and I know I do the same for him. He's just as needy and pitiful as I am for him. And for all outward appearances, I'm sure that some people think me duly pitiful for it but they have no fucking idea. They know nothing of me and Fer so they can just fuck off into their own idiotic, unknowing and unfulfilling lives.

We certainly did things to one another that battered us occasionally. My idiosyncrasies and his *shit* bug the crap out of me. And, I bet he's got his pretty little palm full of ones he'd love to kill me for. Could call them up at a moment's notice. But it's what makes us *us*, right? Sometimes we'd say it's endearing and then at other times we'd call it monstrous and 'annoying as fuck', but parts are parts are parts. Those parts fit one another, fit me and Fer, and that's all that matters.

It felt really different being with him. Because he was a man, pure and simple. My man. For what that's worth.

Fer and I knew that we were probably nowhere near ready to choose the person we wanted to spend eternity with, but that's just fine, because we also knew that we loved each other with a ferocity that's remarkable for just about anybody. I'll probably never understand why we did, but I'm long past doubting it.

Unfortunately, we can't always live in that kind of happiness and contentment.

Fer, little cherub-faced cynic that he sometimes was, said once that the fates always waited until everything was just about perfect before turning everything to shit, so maybe that's what happened next. Things didn't really go to shit, not exactly, but they changed, irrevocably.

These are the truths:

My parents sort of kinda almost disowned me when they finally found out about my faggotry.

I cheated on Fer.

We broke up more times than I'd like to remember.

Fer was just a minute away from marrying someone else.

I almost died.

Fer almost died.

Fer almost died, because he got shot in the fucking chest and then went through a coma and it was six weeks in physical therapy before he could pick up a fucking paperclip. I could still see the imprint of the hospital wristband against his skin days after he woke up.

We stood up to an incompetent and homophobic jackass of a principal and our actions had a direct impact on the outcome of our school's future.

Both Fer and I still suffer from PTSD, because even though it's been years and he's a lot better now, neither of us will ever forget the terror that we went through.

Okay, I jumped way too far ahead, but I just had to get all that out of my system.

Let's rewind.

There's an old saying, "Familiarity breeds contempt."

Fer and I kind of lived it there at the beginning.

After I came out and we officially got together, we were coasting through this amazing life, when suddenly, it all went to shit so hard and so fast and no matter how hard I try now, I can never really get to that one exact moment where it turned. It was all a bunch of things piling up one after another, I guess.

One of those things was me.

And Fer.

Are we surprised?

I won't go as far as saying something like, "it all went wrong in the end." That to me is failure... a bad outcome, despite good intentions and great effort. It's obvious by the way I speak now that things worked out between Fer and I eventually, but in our early days? Jesus...

Personally, I'd rather not rehash all these fucking stuff. I wanted us to be able to fix things and to be there for each other, but there were a lot of times when we just couldn't and it hurts to remember them happen.

But I guess I have to. I just have to start and hope that once the memories begin to fill, I wouldn't fucking bleed to death from them.

See, you'd think that our ever wonderful and compelling relationship would have kept us content. It's a completely rational thought; certainly no one would fault you for assuming that. You'd be utterly wrong, of course.

Abandon all reason, ye who enter here.

When Fer and I became a couple, we actually really did talk about shit. Not in the way people did it in some happy sappy het sitcom, but still...I thought we'd talked about everything we needed to. We both had to know where we thought we were going, where we wanted to go, and I guess we did, but we talked in big picture terms. The problem was, the big picture was made by making tons and tons of small individual brush strokes. Fer and I didn't really talk about those brush strokes.

I remember saying this to him one time:

"Fer, I want it to be us. As long as we're together, and we're clear with each other that we plan to stay that way and that it's going to be a fucking permanent condition, that's all I want, all I need."

Okay, maybe that sounds totally clingy and pathetic, but shit, I'm in my own head here. I can afford to recall it in my own head, anyway.

So here's the thing: Fer and I loved each other. We really did. But as deeply in love as we truly were and genuinely loved each other's company, there was also this inconvenient and inescapable truth: Fer and I fought about the stupidest fucking things. We had this horrible habit of shooting ourselves in the foot and kicking each other's asses, while somehow managing to blow off everyone else's heads in the process.

Granted, it wasn't always like that. More often than not we really did get along very well and enjoyed each other's presence and shared many wonderful times. We had a lot of moments that meant significantly to the both of us and helped tighten the bond that we were sharing. There were those instances when we both said and did things for one another that held as proof as to how much we truly loved and cared for each other and our relationship. Some I remember very clearly. Especially right now, when we're laying so close together and everything is just right in my world.

There was that time I was trying to decide whether or not to finally tell my parents about my homosexuality. Fer encouraged me, and he was clearly very happy with the idea, but he didn't force me into anything. What got to me though wasn't just what he said to me, but the way he said it. Hell, to some extent it was the fact that he said it at all. But the way he did, the way he looked straight into my eyes while he spoke to me - no bullshit, no walls, no pretenses - just Fer being as open and direct as I've ever known him to be, I think that was when I knew for the first time that he really cared about me.

I mean, I knew that he must have felt paranoid the first few weeks into our relationship when there was still the prospect of me backing away because I hadn't risked quite everything yet by telling my parents about us, but I knew that just could have been the fear of losing a boyfriend. But it wasn't like that at all this time. This time, while he was telling me to come out to my parents when I was ready to do it, and to do it for me, not for him or anyone else, I realized that he was right. This was about me. And then after that, I found myself having a whole brand new reason to fall in love with Fer even more than I already did. Because I knew that moment was about Fer caring enough to do his best to make sure I didn't mess things up for myself. I remember just standing there in front my house with Fer's hands cradling my neck, the sunlight shining around us and on his face, and everything felt good and beautiful. And as he pulled me in for a quick kiss, I knew that's how I'll always remember it, because Fer always will be good and beautiful to me. That's how I'll always think of him. How I'll always see him.

Unfortunately, things became more and more complicated from there.

My parents finally found out, because of a fucking picture no less, and needless to say, I freaked out. All the previous resolve that I had about deciding to come out and getting it over with once and for all was washed away for whatever fucking reason. To cover things up, I did some totally dumb stuff, like pretending to have a girlfriend, and denying any relationship with Fer.

Fer was understandably pissed and disappointed, and everything started feeling like a fucking re-run of our previous drama involving Gorka and Ruth and coming out. Still, at the time I felt totally justified. Fer might have deluded himself about how easy it was because he had parents who so openly accepted his sexuality, but it obviously wasn't like that for most people, no matter how much things had changed and how lucky we were to be living in more tolerant times and country and all that shit.

Family-wise, it sure as hell wasn't fucking easy from where I was standing.

So how in the hell did I get to the point where I was facing a "family dinner" and ended up inadvertently introducing Fer as my boyfriend in such a fucked-up way? How did life get that damned complicated?

It's stupid to bend over backward and pretend like it wasn't a suck ass fuck-all shitty turn of events, but whatever, right? Ever since Fer and I got together, I spent much time fighting off the unsolicited opinions of people who knew fuck all about me and even less about Fer, so it wasn't any different when my parents found out. I made a lot of effort justifying, deflecting, excusing and defending our relationship.

The whole time, I think maybe my parents were trying to recall their idealized memories of my life, childhood, school, home; wrapped up in soft-focus, picture-perfect visions of the times before I met Fer, before he changed my world, became my world.

All I did was talk. It was my job to tell the story, to write it in my head and draw it and think it and sell it and fucking _explain_ it. I'd never really had to explain stuff like that before, and then suddenly, it became this big, life-altering event.

Once upon a time, I thought I could handle it. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I also hoped that things would work out, if only I could find some way to have my parents understand. If they would be willing to listen. If their reaction wouldn't end up with telling me to just forget about it like my father did, or start crying hysterically like my mother did.

I didn't think it would bother me that much, but I didn't realize that I would have to answer so many stupid questions constantly until I was so tired, and honestly, feeling so fucking powerless and overwhelmed. But I couldn't say anything else, because who the fuck knew what I was doing anymore.

After that, my parents got busy being in denial over my homosexuality, up to the day they threatened to move me to a different school - as if that could somehow change how I felt and what I'd already done - to turn my back on everything I was learning about myself, walk away from the man I was growing into, forget the person I was sharing all those experiences with. I'd never been so fucking proud of anything in my life as I was of myself that day. Because I'd done what I'd never thought I'd ever have the fucking guts to do and laid everything on the line to my parents in order to defend who I was.

Fer was with me then, standing next to me, and I'll never forget how he looked at me at that moment. Not just that he wanted me, not just that I was some sort of prize he'd had to win and claim from my parents, but like he was actually pleased with me, proud of me. He pulled me into his arms and kissed my head, then just sort of gave the back of my neck a gentle massage. All the time he was smiling at me, and I knew that somehow, even if just for that moment, I'd made him really, really happy. After that, I wanted him to always look at me like that.

And the thing is … it didn't end that day in that school corridor.

Because a couple of days later, after much soap opera shit after discovering that my father was cheating on my mom with my teacher and all other crap that I don't want to think about today because they inevitably led to my parents' divorce and the fact that Fer and I broke up for a couple of days during that whole drama, well...my mother did the fucking amazing thing, and apparently spoke and listened to Fer. Asked him what he would say to me if Fer was in her place.

Fer told her what he'd do. That he'd tell me that he would always love me no matter what.

And that made some sort of fucking difference.

I would be a liar if I didn't admit that I also lost sight of that pertinent fact a couple of times during our relationship.

Anyway, I approached Fer after my mother told me what happened. I sat next to him on the staircase, but when he finally looked at me, his face was still full of remembered pain and guilt, so I felt my own happiness force out and surge up to meet his, no matter how reluctant it was to come out. I turned to him and opened my arms, and as he came into them, I held him tightly and we clung together for a long time.

End of story, right? I wish.

I guess we're all creatures of habit when it comes down to it, so I can't completely fault either of us for so quickly falling back into some of our old patterns. And some of our old patterns were pretty rotten.

Fer thought of himself as this all-knowing, all-seeing super power, at least where I was concerned. Mostly I didn't mind. If it kind of made him sleep easy at night, made him trust us somehow, then I was all for it.

But some days he was just too much.

This isn't even fair for me to say, because I totally put everything on Fer, but he kind of drove me a little crazy sometimes. He was…well, intense puts a better spin on it, though the word that keeps coming to mind is _overbearing_.

One morning, I was sitting at the dining table with a plate full of food, listening to my mother drone on about the new neighbors and their pretty daughter, and have I met her yet because she was single and really very pretty and we would totally like each other. For once I couldn't even pretend I had shit under control. I was too worn down to keep up much of a pretense. I just couldn't sit there waiting for her to get to the part where I had to ask the girl out, had to be a man, had to play my real part. I just couldn't sit there another minute, so I got up when she was in mid-sentence, walked on auto pilot to the trash can where I dumped my breakfast then kept right on walking out the door. I could hear her calling me, but I kept walking like some kind of fucking robot.

_"I'll give you your space and try to understand how you are...,"_ my ass.

By the time I got to school, I was just…spent, just running on empty.

Naturally, I was less than thrilled when Fer plopped himself down on his chair as he proceeded to bring up something about starting a gay association at school. It's not that his daily rush was any more or less inspired than usual, but after fending off my mom's passive-aggressive remarks, I wasn't really interested in feeling even more like shit because I wasn't all enthusiastic for Fer's club.

See, ever since I came out to everybody, it felt like I'd been defining myself solely by my sexuality. I was a GAY man. Not just a man, not a son, not a student, but a GAY man, and it got exhausting and confining and boring. I had a feeling Fer wouldn't be receptive to that little piece of my mind, so I stayed clear of the issue as long as I could.

Anyway, given everything I needed to be doing that day, dealing with my mother was one thing, but having a fight with Fer over something so minor in the scheme of things? That seemed unnecessary and very inconvenient, so I tried to avoid it as best as I could.

I started carefully, conscious that it was a fucking minefield I was straying into, but I wanted him to understand. We had to get it settled, or else he was going to wonder about it and overthink it and it'd fester and then he'd do or say some fucking stupid thing again. So I said something like not feeling the need to start any kinds of associations, and anyway I defend who and what I am my own way, and he should be able to understand that. After all, he was a firsthand witness to all the drama surrounding my coming out.

But then Fer started getting suspicious that maybe I was ashamed of being gay. He thought I had something against gay pride, because apparently if I didn't have anything against gay pride I would obviously have been out starting a gay association at school. Sometimes reason and Fer weren't even on the same planet.

And I didn't get it at all. I didn't get him when he's like that.

He then went off on me, saying stuff which basically translated to me being a lame-ass selfish fucking coward. There were so many things wrong with what he'd just said that I hardly knew where to start, but I figured that it was best not to argue, to just let him go on so that I could find out what the fuck I'd done this time.

I don't know, maybe I'm totally full of shit and it was just my way of trying to have some control over it, but at least he wasn't yelling, right? But I felt a bit of trepidation, like I knew I should be trying to smooth things over. Sometimes Fer went a little out of his way to, sort of, ignore decorum or whatever. I understood what he was trying to do, and in some ways that's one of the things I loved about him, and I did know he pretty much hated to be told his opinions were fucked.

So I let it go and just likened it to being in Time Out. Fer just needed to be pissed for a little while, then all would be well.

I was right. That whole thing eventually blew over and things were well again.

Unbeknownst to either of us, though, the worst fucking parts were yet to come.

See, Fer and I became familiar with one another in an untold number of ways. There was the friendly familiarity of knowing each other's sleepy eyes over coffee at early morning hang-outs in the school cafeteria. There was the familiarity of long, intense conversations held over the phone long into the night and on through the dawn. There was the homey familiarity of weekends spent in his bedroom, sexy and cozy and welcome. And, because of our relationship, there was the familiarity of intimacy. Of the taste of each other's mouths and the nudge of our need against our legs.

The trouble with familiarity was, it seemed to breed possessiveness and jealousy.

Fer and I gave each other too many reasons to be possessive and jealous.

So here's the part I'm going to skip: the part where I lost my mind and listened to my dick instead, the part where I cheated on Fer, where I was neither rational nor considerate nor honest nor even sane. Hell, I really dropped the ball and turned into such a motherfucking piece of shit.

I hurt Fer... and there's no excuse for it, no excuse at all.

Of course, at the time, I felt totally justified. Seeing him enjoying a make-out session with another guy on-camera for our friends' school project made me feel like shit, and I kicked back against that and behaved like a total twat the way I always did when I was pushed and …

It was a disaster.

I didn't want to think about why I was angry at Fer, only that I _was_ angry, and that somehow it was Fer's fault.

So it had been Fer right from the start. And fuck him for making such a mess of everything. Ha. It's all his fucking fault, right? And therein lies the rub. Because it wasn't. I could have been the one Fer was doing it with, but I came up with some bullshit excuse to pass it off. I could have spent some quality time with my boyfriend while helping our friends in the process, but instead chose to lock myself up in some dirty ass restroom in order to jack off with some strangers on the internet like I was some sad-assed desperate loser.

Anyway, I found the video, went totally ballistic, then contacted Marcos and did whatever the fuck it was I was so angry and horny for. I cheated on Fer. Because I could. Because he couldn't stop me. Because I thought he did the same. And after having the nerve to do what I thought he did, I told myself that if he still wanted me so goddamned badly, he fucking deserved it.

That moment was always immediately followed by disgust. I hated myself for feeling that way, but no more than I hated Fer for *making* me feel that way. For *making* me do what I did. And I know that's not fair, I know it's complete utter bullshit, but dammit, that's how I felt.

Anyway, I'm not trying to make excuses for what I did. I'm trying to find excuses for how I felt.

I'll say this, though: through it all, I never stopped loving Fer. Fucking another guy had no relation to how I felt about Fer, nor did it mean that I wasn't getting any sexual satisfaction from him.

So what the hell was it about? Was it some form of fucked-up retribution for all the times I got cheated on by my ex-girlfriends? Did I do it deliberately to get some revenge directed at the wrong person? Was I a complete sociopath?

Or maybe I was just a really fucking stupid horny kid. No more, no less.

And then I remember one day, I sat down on the square at school and kind of snorted to myself thinking maybe I should call my dad and get some advice on how to deal with my dilemma, and, Jesus Christ, I just about shit my pants right there.

Swear to God, I never noticed the parallel before that. Never. Was that not totally messed up? Not a day went by after I found out that my dad was cheating on my mom when I didn't tell myself that I'd never ever live with myself if I did something like that, and what the fuck was I doing? Seriously, what the fuck?

In that moment I knew, despite every determination not to acknowledge it that way, that I was my father's son.

And what good did the bolt of lightning do me? What in the hell was I going to do about it that I suddenly had such a clear picture? I just sighed and indulged in a minute or two of self-pity. I was completely fucking everything up, and the two lives I thought I had separated were suddenly spinning together.

And in true David Ferrán fashion, my retribution hurt me more than anyone. Fer found out, and I lost him.

I remember that moment of…of fucking agony when I saw the shock and sorrow and misery and *pain* in Fer's face. That moment when I knew I'd made a direct hit, and I'd exposed all there was of him, when we both had to acknowledge for one passing moment that I controlled all of it - his mind, his body, his future. And I knew I could make it good or I could make it bad, but no matter what, it was mine to make.

I think about it now, and it makes me feel so goddamned rotten I can hardly stand it. I tried to fix it later, but it was unforgivable to begin with, and it ended up fucking with our relationship for a long time.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to him, and fuck it all, I'd never meant anything as much as I meant those words right at that moment. I willed time to reverse and unravel the mess that I'd made of it all.

Fer and I reconciled eventually. Looking back now, I'm not sure if that's necessarily a good thing at the time. I mean, obviously I'm glad that we're together, but back then, everything was still so fucked up. Neither of us was ready, but nor we could stand being apart for too long.

I knew the least I could do was spend the next couple of weeks putting forth some effort to get back into Mr. Redondo's good graces, and I swear, I really tried. I'd already tuned Marcos out, like a bad recording, like a fuzzy radio station, like a memory I didn't want or need. Marcos had been relegated to my uncomfortable past and that's where I wanted him to stay, tucked in with every other bad decision of my life, a mistake, part of my learning curve, my fucking fuck-up.

Which is not to say Fer was all forgive and forget.

This is where the doubt comes in. I guess Fer and I were supposed to sit down and have a good long talk about everything. Should have gotten things out into the open, discussed them, reached some sort of understanding, before we got back together.

Why we didn't, I don't know. I guess we were just too fucking young.

At the time, though, I just kept telling myself, '_Fer knows what I know, and I know what he knows, and we all know I fucked up, so why dwell on it? I'm not going to have my head shrunk every time I do something colossally stupid.'_

Plain idiotic. Yes.

As I reflect on it now, I wish to high heavens that we actually took a break right around that time instead of rushing into a reunion. As it happened, we just tried to sort of sweep everything under the rug, hoping it would all go away, but it did just the opposite. It simmered and boiled and came back and fucking savaged us both.

It was becoming over faster than either Fer or I could imagine, and it wasn't supposed to be like that. Everyone knew how it was supposed to go this time and what all the rules were.

Don't get me wrong, I know there were moments of peace and quiet. I know we laughed sometimes and goofed around and had fun. I know we had some wild ass sex. I know there were glimpses of happiness in there, but I also know that the rift never went away. After a while, it just got bigger and wider and it resulted in not only my realization of Fer's disillusionment with our relationship, but also of my simplistic view of relationships in general.

One thing my escapade did was that it sort of turned me off romance for some time. I mean, my first real effort at a relationship with a person I actually loved didn't exactly go well. It also brought all those fears about losing Fer, about Fer leaving me. Funnily enough, it's hard to acknowledge the fact that you cheated on somebody without starting to have thoughts about losing them.

So when I did get him back, when we got back together, that's when things got really weird for me.

See, I had convinced myself at first, because it hurt less that way, that Fer's ongoing paranoia was just his way of torturing himself out of love and maybe a sense of obligation but that in some ways he'd be relieved of it and everything would be resolved eventually. I was wrong. He was not relieved, nothing was resolved, and with that knowledge as I think of everything that happened after, I'm even sadder for what we went through.

The whole time we were together, I was feeling Fer's unhappiness like an ache in my soul, but my energies had been exhausted from months of trying to help him regain his trust of me, and I guess I just had no reserves left. I was torn between hating myself for what I did and a growing resentment of Fer for seeming to need more and more proof of my feelings for him, when I'd turned my whole life inside out to be with him, which should surely have at least still meant something. Weary and trying to convince myself that it didn't matter if Fer finally wised up and left, went elsewhere for the things that I so obviously wasn't capable of giving him, I found myself more and more reverting to my tried persona when I just didn't want to give a shit about anything anymore, which of course made things infinitely worse.

We were both just so lost, hopelessly broken on a train rapidly heading for a disaster, and neither of us knew what to do at that point. We were a fucking mess, not communicating in ways the other could understand, experiencing needs and setting priorities without the other person's input or even awareness; basically imploding as a couple as well as on an individual basis. I was out of my fucking mind and a complete asshole. I don't really think I had the skills and tools to do any better at that point; I actually think I did the best I could for a while, but really? I was pathetic. I suffered some psychic damage, including a huge one that was self-inflicted, brought on by guilt, self-distrust and self-hatred. I became uncommunicative and thoughtless and immature and stubborn, trivializing Fer's feelings and place in my life, when I should have known to do a lot better after that stupid time with Marcos.

On the other hand, Fer got more and more not-Fer, more and more insecure, more and more dishonest and vulnerable in a bad way. He'd lost his center, lost his sense of self and self-worth. He'd ricochet from being this sort of caring, if not overbearing, boyfriend one minute, to this total asshole dick the next, and then all of a sudden, I'd feel bad that maybe he was still worried about all the uncertainty, and I'd feel all sort of tender towards him until he was a total dick again and then I'd be all irritated and then he'd say something so totally sweet and…well, shit. It started feeling like he was always waiting for me to say something or do something, and I kind of was too, but I couldn't think what.

I guess once the damages to Fer's foundational self occurred, my own demons leaped in and widened each crack. This weakened Fer could be amused by me one moment, see through me another, be wounded by me the next, and could be wounded by things that Fer of months earlier wouldn't have even registered, let alone taken to heart. It was an agony for me to see him like that, and I spent most of the time feeling incredible anger at myself, even though I was also aware of my own pain and damage, and knew that it was responsible for most of what I was doing, too.

Basically, we were living in a web of bad communication, hurting each other, and lies.

And the longer that went on, the less able I was to recognize Fer, and the more difficult it became for me to start forgiving myself.

At the time, there was nothing I thought I could do but lash out. Christ, I hated it, just hated everything, but I never could find the perfect target to vent all of that anger. And then one night, it all came into a head when Fer and I went to Álvaro's party. It was a shitty evening. It was hot as fucking hell and we were both assholes and wasted our time arguing over stupid shit.

We were playing another jealousy game and got really pissed off at each other. We just...lost it... acting like we were fucking 12 years old and just trying so goddamn hard to find someone else to blame for the shitty way we were both feeling.

When I knew it was all my fault.

Everything...

Was all my fault.

And then it hit me. I'd done the screwing up, the lying, the cheating, the fucking around. I was the asshole, the bastard, the shithead. I was the one that started it, continued it... so I was the one that's ending it.

Consciously, I still loved Fer very much. I couldn't tolerate the idea that anyone, especially myself, would hurt him. But my subconscious kept telling me that Fer would leave me, inevitably. He'd keep looking for the monster inside me and eventually see me for the flawed creature that I was.

But neither of us was ready for it to end. So then, as usual, like always, we reconciled again after some corny speech.

The cycle would continue.

Days later, I knew there was something going on with Fer. He was going through something in his head. I figured that much out on my own, because God knows he sure as hell wasn't talking to me.

Then I found out that he and Yoli had sex.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't fucking believe it! Granted, Yoli was so fucking hot even a 90-year-old grandma could pop a boner just looking at her, but Fer was bitching at me the whole time because I wouldn't sit still and play the good little hubby; he was going around and around all fucking pouty as if the big bad wolf had run rough-shod over him, and then suddenly I find out that he'd been getting his rocks off with a woman? Un-fucking-believable.

It was just the sort of self-destructive shit that I'd been afraid of. Although by the sounds of it, Fer had found a whole new way to self-destruct. The worst I had been afraid of had been a binge of avoidance and drama; this was new territory even for Fer.

Shit got real, we broke the fuck up again, Yoli and Julio also got finished off for good, and all the other good shit came after. Such as Fer deciding to date Yoli for real.

Unfortunately, I saw him doing it not in a secure, confident, fuck-you kind of way, but in more of a suffering, dejected, selfish way. Something that was sure to go over badly no matter how anyone looked at it.

Anyway, we were still attending the same school and sharing some mutual friends, so we had to make do. But gone were the automatic kisses, light banter, pleasure of close proximity. The few times our paths crossed became high-wire balancing acts. Our attempts to have a decent conversation would always be laced with passive-aggressive remarks, but we'd pretend to hold our own, then move on at the end of the day. I told myself that Fer was with Yoli and that I had to deal with that. Fer tried to convince himself that I couldn't give a shit anyway.

In the end, I think we just decided that hell, maybe the whole thing would take care of itself if it turned out that we couldn't stand each other anymore.

I know everyone, including Fer, thought that I stopped loving him but I never did. That wasn't the problem. It was just the opposite really - I took for granted that one day he'd stop wanting me, and I couldn't just go along with the love thing and wait for that to happen. I had to pretend that it didn't matter, that he didn't matter anymore. So that when that day came, I could escape with my pride, at least, intact.

Yeah, pathetic. I know that now. But then, it actually seemed to make sense. Of course, part of the deal was that no one could ever know what was going on in my head. I'm all too good at putting up a front, and even Fer never seemed to see through that one. Oh, they all knew that he mattered to me, they saw through that part. But they still all thought I took his admiration, his love, for granted. And I never did. Not for a moment. I just didn't believe it would last, after what I did. It was still hanging over my head, so instead of making the most of every moment, I spent all my time trying to pretend that I didn't want Fer as much anymore, as if that could make it hurt less when I eventually lost him. So stupid.

Anyway, there was also Jorge.

I can't think too much of what to say about him now. I know he was an awesome guy and I'll be infinitely grateful to him for saving my life later on, but when I met him I was just this big dumb kid whose emotions and priorities were so messed up and all over the place.

I projected a lot in him. I found qualities in him that I convinced myself I would never ever find with Fer. He was the kind of man I told myself Fer should have been, but most importantly, he was the kind of man I wished _I_ was.

He was handsome, mature, kind and understanding. We were made of the same thread of gay cloth. He shared the same hobbies and interests with me which Fer did not, and at the time it suddenly became this huge, oh-so-important detail to me for whatever fucking reason. Wasn't it just not too long ago when I told Fer, "The truth is, I always have a fucking great time with you no matter what we're doing..."?

How the hell had that changed? Why the hell had that changed?

The truth is, it hadn't. I was just up to my eyeballs with all the fucking bullshit, so I believed them enough and kept spouting them off no matter how much I knew it was hurting Fer.

Because not an inch deeper in my skin, I was a glutton for punishment, and I knew that the only way to hurt me was to hurt Fer. And after what Fer did with Yoli, I think there was also an element of revenge behind what I was doing. Or maybe it's also another instance of trying to manage something in the midst of all the uncertainty. I don't know. I didn't spend a hell of a lot of time making sense during all of this.

Judgments aside, though, Jorge appealed to my sensibilities at the time. In my mind, if someone like him could be interested in me, when I hadn't yet thrown out all of my barriers and facades, then maybe I wasn't irredeemable after all. With Fer, I was too vulnerable and wide open. With Jorge, partly because of his age and maturity, and more likely with my ego issues at the time, some part of me believed that he was somewhat dominant. That dominance could permit me to erode a little of my binding control.

So I pursued him, using our mutual hobbies and interests as my crutch, so fucking desperate to get on with someone else just so I could forget about Fer and be finally free of the weird-assed superpowers he seemed to possess over my life. I tried to convince myself of so many things, like the fact of our differences in personalities and interests was somehow so great that it could make our relationship not...valid enough.

It was totally fucking dumb, because I knew even from the start that Fer and I were different, but there was a reason why we got tangled up together at the first place, and why I challenged all the preconceived notions that I had about myself and risked everything just to be with him. And it sure as hell wasn't just lust or teenage confusion or stupidity. The truth is, Fer and I's interest in each other's lives was very mutual, and that was enough to make our relationship as real and valid and intense as it was.

I'd also realized since then that common interests aren't a be-all and end-all necessity anyway, because these things change as time goes along, and then what happens if our interests don't change together in the same direction? Showing respect for the other person's interests is far more important than having the same ones, and Fer had always shown genuine respect for my hobbies and interests, for all my quirks and vices, and I tried to do the same for him.

I guess it seems pretty fucking stupid that I had to get all the way here before I could realize all that, but if I was honest with myself, I'd acknowledge that I'd known all these things then, too. But as I mentioned already, I honestly felt lost and struggling at that point in my relationship with Fer. I was catabolizing myself emotionally, looking for shitloads of bull to dismiss my relationship with him, so that it'd hurt less when it all inevitably fell apart. My thoughts then were all completely irrational, almost primal, and that's part of why Fer and I got so very disconnected with each other, so hard. And maybe entirely why it got as deep as it did.

But none of that matters anymore, because stupid fucking Jorge changed his mind at the last minute about what he fucking wanted. It never started between us, and honestly, I'm very glad about that now.

* * *

So I have plenty of regrets.

What's my biggest regret? My biggest regret, the one thing I always wish for if I conjured up a genie when I rubbed my bottle of beer, is that I could find a way to make it work, before it got to all that.

There's this realization, too: Sex, which wasn't so important except when it was, was only satisfying when I was having it with Fer. There'd been so much regret for so many things, Jesus Christ, enough to last five lifetimes and counting, but when Fer and I made love, eyes open-wide at the ceiling and chanting each other's names like a prayer, that's what I knew I regretted missing most. Not just the sex, not just the actions, but the way Fer made sex feel utterly real. Fucking other people had been entirely different, all impersonal and fake lights and music and dazement and almost-intoxication, but nobody else had ever made me feel as raw, as exposed, as uninhibited as I was when with Fer. That we could do anything, *anything*, and no one else mattered, nothing else mattered but what we did, what we could do to each other.

Because no matter how great sex is, it's also about this: The fine difference between fucking the person you love and loving the person you fuck.

How Fer was both at the same time.

There might have been all the emotional rollercoasters, mental fuck-ups by the score, but I knew, always knew, that I wanted to be with Fer like I didn't, had never wanted to be with anyone else.

Because I was really deeply in love with him. I loved him despite the fact that he could be the most overbearing, irrational, pig-headed son of a bitch with a passive-aggressive streak worse than the most hormonal pregnant woman on the planet. He drove me crazy, but it's also part of what constantly gave me a thrill whenever he turned and looked at me from across a room and all the other stupid fucks just disappeared for a moment and he's the only thing there that's real. Everybody thought I've got him on a string, but the truth is, Fer could get me by the balls any time he needed to. Because he was the best person I've ever known, the best person for me.

I know that Fer and I were too young and too idiotic. But that doesn't mean I don't wish it could have played out in a different way, like one of those weird foreign art-house movies with the alternative endings, or perhaps one of those adventure books I used to read when I was a kid. The kind where you roll a dice and let the number determine the page you turn to next, and in turn you get a different plot with a different ending.

But life isn't like that, is it? It doesn't always go the way we want it to, and love doesn't always mean a happy ever after.

So there I was, another year older, not any the wiser, and it felt like nothing had changed. At the same time, it felt like everything did. It was all different. Nothing reminded me of Fer, except the fact that everything reminded me of Fer.

* * *

After a while, I started picking up the persona I usually adapted whenever Fer was not an active part of my life: an unproductive fucker who couldn't give a shit about anything.

Which pretty much says it all, it really does.

But look, it was hard pretending school was good and I was good and life was fucking good when I hated school and I hated me and life pretty much sucked. I tried to concentrate on studying, but I couldn't have cared less about it. How did everyone else do it anyway - just sitting there in class after class that held no interest to them? How did they make themselves study the material and learn it and take tests in it when it didn't have anything to do with anything they cared about? What the fuck was it going to give me that was worth wasting all of that time? Two years of my life would be gone and all I'd have was a piece of paper declaring me eligible for some college or university I would no doubt hate. What was the point?

It all stretched out before me seeming endless and meaningless, but there I was, going to school with five hundred of the lamest, most boring fuckers walking the planet. And then I had to answer the teachers' boring fucking questions all the time acting as if I gave a fuck. All of that time wasted, then what? A job selling fucking widgets? Woohoo!

The least I wanted was to feel even more like shit thinking about Fer and wondering what it would be like if we were still together.

I didn't give any thought to it, though, because at that point Fer just didn't exist to me. Oh sure, there were twinges every now and then. But if a thought or two strayed to him now and again, it sure as hell wasn't enough to take me off course. Mostly, it was like Fer had never been. I mean, it's not like I divided my life up between pre-Fer and post-Fer. It was simply same old, same old.

Now, in case any of you missed it, the take away here is that I am utterly and completely full of shit.

See, the truth of it, the absolute bitter, pathetic truth, is that in my mind, the split was temporary. I never for a minute, for a fucking second, thought we would never get back together. Swear to God, it never occurred to me that when I wanted him back, he wouldn't come back. And it wasn't that I didn't want him back, it was merely that I didn't want him back *yet*.

And I wasn't going to tell people that the only real reason I wasn't bothering with anyone else wasn't because I was looking for that special someone. I mean, it was proof that Fer and I broke up because of Fer's issues, not because I was or wasn't something I should or shouldn't be. Right? That's what I told myself anyway. But I suspected that in the extremely unlikely event that a real relationship ever actually happened between me and some other person that was *not* Fer, I'd probably only stick around out of obligation.

So I guess for a while there, Fer just accepted my slings and arrows while I was trying to shack it off with Jorge, until unbeknownst to me, he volleyed one back with staggering accuracy.

It's like this: I thought we'd sneak back to each other for a fuck or two, but I guess it wasn't any skin off my nose that we didn't. Maybe I figured that through Julio, I'd have, if not a front row, then certainly a second row seat to the little soap opera fest that was Fer's life. See, it didn't take long for everyone to realize that he and Yoli weren't exactly swimming in warm fuzzy romantic feelings toward each other anymore, but no one was really surprised by that. And how could I even care when it was so obvious how fucking wrong they were together it was almost comical. They'd moved beyond…Jesus, I don't even know what to call whatever it was they had together. Suffice to say they'd moved beyond it back to the tight friendship they always had, the way it was always meant to be.

But even with that fact, maybe it should have occurred to me that Fer wasn't really mine anymore after all. But it hadn't.

Not until he showed up with a boyfriend.

A _boyfriend_.

This guy named Borja.

See, while Fer and I were broken up, I took advantage of the cold spell by partying and getting hammered drunk and being high all the fucking time. Fer did…whatever the hell he did when things cooled between us. I guess he remained sober the whole time, or else we'd have had a little Yoli Redux right around there. Okay, that's probably unfair. Screwing up the same way over and over again was my forte. I trusted Fer to find new and inventive ways to fuck up.

Imagine my surprise when Fer came calling for me at this party one night to introduce his newest friend Salva, just to announce that he had a new boyfriend. I almost choked on my drink, I didn't even bother to hide how much that news disturbed me. Before he could give me any details, though, the boyfriend showed up.

He was hot, I'll give him that. He lost a few points for attire - he was wearing a cheesy pirate uniform - but at least he wore it well. I could tell he was built - not as ripped as some of the guys I knew, but he worked at it.

Later on, I saw him rope Fer in by enticing away his evening's entertainment. Fer held on to him while they were dancing, smiling up at him with a smile that nearly cut me in two. I realized then how possessive I'd always been of that look. I mean, yes, I wanted Fer to be happy; I'd always wanted Fer to be happy, but for long, I'd been absolutely convinced that I was the only one who could make him so. How much of my animosity towards the new boyfriend could be explained in the panic I'd felt when I saw Fer smiling that smile for him?

I watched them with overwhelming despair, thinking over and over again, _'No, no, no, no, no...'_

I mean, I know that I brought a lot of shit on myself by the way I selfishly lived my life, but damn, seeing Fer with someone _real _tore a big, gaping hole in my heart.

See, that stuff with Yoli, I had time. She and Fer were like fucking Barbie and Ken dolls pretending to be in a genuine relationship, so there was no sense of urgency on my part. I had my boy off playing in a clean little sandbox with his pretty friend, and I was free of all the bullshit. I'd like to think I managed to adjust with that kind of arrangement, thank you, so to learn that not only was Yoli out of the picture but a guy named Borja has waltzed into it, well, that upset my apple cart.

Because anyone could see that Borja was, for all practical purposes, David Ferrán Lite. All the perks, none of the psychosis.

He was gorgeous and charming and witty and from what I could see, he was rushing Fer like a fucking pro. Maybe he was looking for a trophy, but he seemed just healthy enough to have a genuine interest in him.

Later that evening, Fer walked up to me and proceeded to talk about things we'd been trying to ignore the last couple of weeks. The whole time, I was spilling out my heart and my guts and basically begging him to take me back, because dammit, we were born to be together, right? Of course I'm right.

It didn't work.

Damn, I was freaked out to have the matter taken off of my time table. The way I'd figured it, I had at least until we finished at Zurbarán before I had to really think about shitting or getting off the pot. Well, no use crying over the way things were supposed to be.

Yeah, I don't believe me either. I spent that whole night crying like a baby, knowing that I was still in love with Fer down to my fucking toes, and that I had to get everything out, had to tell the truth once and for all or I would keel over from a stroke or some other embarrassing thing like that.

I approached Fer a little while later. I was already pissed drunk at that point, but hey, at least I was still coherent and reasonable. I thought I was, anyway.

If asked whether I thought I was getting obsessed, I would have to admit that it was a possibility. Anyway, I would have thought that Fer would avoid me, but he was either softening or was determined to live his life despite me.

"Are you going to stalk me the whole night?" Fer asked as I sidled across from him beside the bar.

"I want to talk," I answered.

"We did that."

"I want to really talk, Fer. Just hear me out, and if you want, you never have to see me again." Sounding right and proper here.

Fer watched me for so long that he was probably just doing it to make me uncomfortable. It was working.

"He's very nice to me," I nodded at Borja's direction. "You never mention us at all, do you?"

Fer wrinkled his nose in a way that should have annoyed the crap out of me.

I continued. "What spin did you put on it? I'm curious."

"You're such an ego hound," Fer scoffed. "There's no spin."

"This isn't about me," I lied. "I just want to know more about him and what you told him about us."

"David, what's your deal now? You didn't give a fuck when I was with Yoli, why do you care about Borja?"

I shook my head. I couldn't even believe that he would ask such a stupid question. "Don't you get it, Fer? This is real life. Everybody knows that whatever bullshit romantic relationship you and Yolanda managed to cobble together, it wasn't real. And it's over. That guy is fucking real life."

"So what do you want, David? Don't you remember what happened? You need me to refresh your memory?"

"Are the words I'm using too big? I want to know what you told your boyfriend about me."

He shook his head and I could feel myself flush. He could see it; saw what I was really feeling. That I was dying to fuck him until he's blind and then yank his head back by the hair and make him tell me everything I needed to know. Barring that, I wanted to stab him with my fork.

Fer set down his glass, then leaned back against the chair to list for me. "I told him that we met at Zurbarán. I told him that we're both students there. I told him that you were Julio's childhood friend. I told him you were the first person I had a serious relationship with. I told him we'd been together for months. I told him that you left me and that's how our relationship ended. Stop me if I get to something you don't know about yourself."

His tone was astonishingly even, and I found myself irritated by his attitude. All the studied casualness. What the fuck was he doing, taking yoga? Studying meditation with Cova? As if following my train of thought, he slowly shook his head at me. "I'm not playing, David. We don't talk about you very much. I'm sorry, but there it is. We talk about his work, we talk about school, we talk about where to eat dinner or where we want to go for the night. Your name has come up when we talk about stuff we like in bed, stuff we don't, what we've tried, what we haven't. I'm not out here running around trying to make sure everyone I meet gets my version of events."

He reached over to munch on some chips, and then, "By the way, you should really lay off the vodka. That's enough alcohol for you just to try and confront me about all of this."

"Don't tell me what I'm doing or why." I said in a low voice.

"Would you relax? I'm not playing out a soap opera scene here just to indulge your sense of the dramatic-"

"First of all, I didn't leave you. We, and this is the technical term here, imploded, all right?"

Fer stared at me for a beat, then shook his head and went back to downing his drink. "This is the stupidest fucking conversation we've ever had, and that's saying something."

Come to think of it, it wasn't quite the cozy evening I anticipated either. I'd come over to party and have fun like I'd been doing the past couple of weeks, even knowing that Fer would be there, but the whole development with him having a new boyfriend was something I never expected. It threw me in for a real loop, pushing me to turn everything into soap opera vixenhood, ending up antagonizing Fer. Not that I could stop at that point. The evening was pretty much spinning out of my control, and I was not saying a damn thing right.

"Don't even try, Fer. It's so easy for you when it's all hypothetical, but the minute it gets real, you start looking for excuses. That's bullshit, and I'm calling you on it."

Fer's cool demeanor slipped a little bit. I wondered how far and how hard I'd have to push to see it evaporate completely. "I'm not lying about Borja and I'm not lying to Borja. Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

I sat back in my chair, ignoring the glass Fer slammed down in front of me. "Hmm, I don't know. I seem to remember a guy I know, fucking around behind his boyfriend's back and lying his ass off about it. Maybe, and I'm just saying *maybe*, that's where the idea was planted in my little brain."

I stopped then. I've said way more than I ever meant to, revealed much more than I intended about how fucking much he hurt me when he did that.

Fer just gave a little huff. "This whole Fer-as-lying-sack-of-shit thing is fucking boring."

"And yet, so very true."

"Fine. You're so interested in what I tell Borja, how about I tell you what I told him about *me*?"

"Oh, please do."

"I hated how I handled our breaking up…excuse me, our implosion. I hated myself, hated how I felt and what I did and how I handled every last thing about it. But I can't change any of that, as much as I'd like to, so fuck it, you know? But I won't make that kind of mistake again. I can learn from what happened and from what I did. I can take something away from it that makes it more than just a fucking pointless disaster. But if you think I'm gonna keep knocking myself out trying to convince you of anything, you're screwed."

"Oh my god, did you lift that speech from a very special episode of Glee?"

Fer glared at me. "What's with you? Have you been stewing about this shit all these time you were ignoring me?"

"I haven't been stewing about anything. It's just interesting to find out that you have no fucking idea what actually happened between us. I mean, *me* leaving you? What a crock of shit!"

"Is that what this is about? Okay, fine. I fucked up, all right? That's the official version. I fucked up, jeopardizing my relationship with you, and Yoli and Julio's. Then you didn't want me anymore, and you pursued Jorge because you were tired of the fucking charade of our relationship so you chucked me out on my ass, let's go with that." With that, he rolled his eyes, then stood up and turned away from me, like I was some fucking ridiculous faggot not worth his time.

I lost it.

"Or maybe I just got sick and tired of what a fucking hypocrite you are. Let's go with *that*!" I yelled after him.

Christ, it's like I'd gone completely crazy. I'd never heard myself sound like that before. Bitterness I hadn't even known was there, bubbling up from the bottom of my mind, thick and ugly and sick, and nowhere in my head had I ever thought I'd ever say those things to *Fer*.

Fer turned back for a second, eyeing me with a dangerous look. "There's an answer for all of this. If you can't handle what happened between us, then damn it, quit sounding me out about this shit. Just leave me the fuck alone."

I left him the fuck alone.

I looked around and saw everyone pretending like Fer and I weren't reenacting a scene from some 1950's melodrama.

It went all wrong. When I watched him dancing with Borja just a short while ago, I planned on doing something to stop the bleeding. As rushed as it was, I had words prepared, speeches - about love and forgiveness and how losing Fer ripped me apart, and how sorry I was, but for some damn reason, none of it made the cut.

So Fer and I were starring in this stupid soap opera, and after he walked away, I found myself getting sympathetic looks and glances from everyone and it was making me paranoid. Especially when Yoli of all people had the fucking balls to come up to me at that point and said, "You'll always be first with him, you know."

I hadn't even bothered to answer.

Some pathetic shit started warbling around my brain after that. Like the fact of my lack of a serious relationship after Fer and I split. I'd told myself that I just wasn't interested in having one. So I'd been fucking around here and there, getting my rocks off, not sticking around for any consequences.

Because none of them was Fer, because Fer wasn't some random fuck at a party. He's...God, he's fucking everything. And once upon a goddamn time, he was mine. And now, apparently, he's not.

Then I thought about us, thought about myself, thought about what the hell I should do when I was bit by karma and didn't want to face reality yet.

I took a little reprieve and slipped out. I headed for the restrooms, splashed some water on my face and studied my eyes in the mirror.

Gold, brown. Just like always.

Why did everything look so different?

I was only nineteen, but I felt like I had fucking dementia. I wasn't understanding a fucking thing.

I walked back out, and saw the bottles of vodka at the bar beckoning me with outstretched arms. Come to us, David. Come drink away your thoughts and live on the wild side, oh wild child. Great. And if I wasn't already thinking in such fucking whirling madness, what, exactly, would a few more drinks do to me? Provide me with clarity? Hopefully not. The last thing I needed was to be any more clear on the issues.

That only meant that the vodka wasn't enough. I needed to get stoned. Alone. Fuck the party. It was time to go.

* * *

So okay, get this. All the yelling and crying and stupid ass talking - all that shit, and you know what? The whole thing lasted a day, maybe even half a day. Right after I got sober enough to remember all the things I said and did, I approached Fer the next day and blamed the alcohol for making me act like a stupid asshole. It didn't take too long for Fer to relent. Looking back, and I don't mean, like, five years later looking back, I mean looking back right after it all blew over, it was all so dumb.

Of course, at the time, I was hurting and just plain freaking out on the inside. As Fer and I embraced in the middle of the hallway, I almost didn't want to let go, because even then, I recognized that moment as the beginning of my end.

But I knew that I needed to move forward somehow, to get from pining ex-boyfriend status to…well, I don't know what to call it, but to get somewhere the fuck else.

Because, really, it was as simple as that, right? Figure out what the fuck I wanted, then take steps to get it. I'm not saying that figuring out I wanted Fer back meant I'd get him back. I knew enough of the "new and improved" Fernando Redondo to know it wouldn't be that simple. But if I wanted him back, if I wanted to try again, I had to fucking be a man about it.

If I wanted it …

That's fucking funny. That's hilarious.

I wanted it like I wanted to go on breathing.

Thus began my illustrious campaign to reassert myself into Fer's life.

It was easy, the first few times, to run into him without it looking deliberate. Okay, so maybe I hadn't been showing up at the school on a regular basis, but I was still a student there, thank you very much. I had obligations. Maybe I'd just found some free time to drop in on my oldest and dearest friends. And if Fer just so happened to be there, I wasn't so petty as to ignore him.

It didn't take too long to pick up on the remaining pieces of our relationship, and to turn it into a sexual-tension filled, awkward kind of friendship. It felt just like when we first met, only with the added subtexts and memories and fucking pinpricks joined into the mix.

There were probably some who couldn't understand why Fer and I started hanging out again. They assumed we'd at least be nursing some kind of grudge or something. Now, granted, right after Fer and I split, I wouldn't have been starting any fan clubs for the guy, but even back then, I knew that the path to destruction Fer and I rode had absolutely nothing to do with Yoli or Jorge. It just so happened that when the last grains of sand ran through the hourglass, they were standing nearby.

And anyway, that was then.

I admit to being a pain in the ass on more than one occasion, though. There was just this thing that I couldn't help. Whenever I was around Fer, I never wanted him to leave, and there were some points when I almost started riding his ass just so we could spend more time together. I also admit to trying more than once to get back with him, no matter how many times he told me that we couldn't do it like that anymore, because he's with someone else. Then it just made me bitter and angry and drunk and high.

Then the HIV scare happened. I was terrified and angry and guilty and feeling so alone, and of course Fer had to fucking find out about it, so it was his turn to ride my ass.

I remember the night he basically stalked me at one of the gay clubs I frequented.

I felt a surge of panic and closed my eyes for a moment, buzzed from my night at the dance floor, and I felt almost angry at how beautiful Fer looked. In the middle of the night, in the middle of a crisis, it was unfair how his presence alone could almost make a person forget why they were miserable, but not forget completely.

Either Fer sensed my irritation or just became annoyed at the lack of a response, because his eyes fired up and focused on me quickly. "What the hell, David?" he said loudly, igniting the twisting inside me all over again, because Fer was the only person in the world who could make "what the hell" convey more concern than any other sentence imaginable, and I hated it because this – these little moments of misspoken words – were often more than I needed, but not enough to change what was happening.

Then Fer said everything that I needed to hear and held me until we both calmed down enough to remember where we were. He walked me home right after, and the whole time he didn't speak much. If I was thinking clearly, I would attribute this to exhaustion, noting the darkness around his eyes and how he blinked irritably at the light from the street lamps. But instead I felt sure that Fer finally caught on somehow, that he's realized the true reality of what was happening, that Fer had gained omniscience through the supernatural status I had ascribed to him long ago, knew of my cowardice, and was so disgusted that he couldn't bear to speak to me.

I was distracted from my theory when Fer's forearms rested on my shoulders and he pressed our foreheads together, blurring our already foggy vision. "You'll be alright, do you understand that?" he said, his voice instantly erasing all doubts and shame.

I should have been scared shitless that Fer could do that but for some reason I wasn't. That he could take me on when I was right on the edge of a precipice and tempted to run off to somewhere that no one knew me and no one was interested in anything except my face and my body. That he could look into my face and see all that and just...fucking refuse to leave. Even when he was with Borja, he was always there, still a part of my life. He never left me completely, not ever. He didn't run off and cut me out of his life no matter how much that would have made sense at the time. He saw past everything to see how much it meant I still… needed him. And somehow find a way to make everything alright.

I watched Fer carefully then and had the fleeting thought that this is what angels have always looked like. Not fair, apple-cheeked cherubim with harps and halos and bouncy ringlets, but this instead: dark and tall with knowing eyes, brandishing swords and shields, possessing tattered wings that leave trails of feathers.

Before I knew it, I was sputtering and sobbing and shaking in the middle of the fucking street, all traces of my macho self gone. And, fuck, what was wrong with that? Everyone needed someone else to be strong for them sometimes. I was still young, for fuck's sake, and I'd been strong enough, but that didn't mean I could never let down, it didn't mean that I didn't need Fer's strength, Fer's presence, Fer's love in my life. I needed all of that and more. I knew that and I tried to fight for it, then fucked it up; fucked it up until I was ready to drop.

We held onto each other for a good long time, and I just loved him so much for being there, for caring what happened to me.

And just like that I knew I still had hope and that he still did want it, still wanted me. He wanted me back, he really did. He just didn't know it, or didn't want to admit it, or maybe he simply didn't know how to make it happen at that point.

I clung on to that, and did some major stupid thing. Borja caught on to it, and eventually Fer did too.

For a moment I fought against letting myself see his expression, tried to find some protection from whatever's there … pity, disgust, anger … it didn't matter … I didn't want it, wouldn't see it.

We were in the restroom; he found me there while I was washing my face. Moments before that, we were in a classroom where I told him about the results of my blood tests, which thank God was clean. But that wasn't the issue. I told him about how I already knew the results the day before, but that I didn't tell him, because some part of me was elated for our re-growing friendship and I wanted him to spend his time with me. I wanted him back in my life any way I could. Needless to say, it ended up badly. Fer was fucking angry and stormed out.

But let's go back the present: "What the hell, David?" Fer's voice wasn't recriminatory anymore; it held little anger, just confusion and concern. "Why did you do that?"

It never even occurred to me to act like I didn't know what he was talking about. Of course, I have to admit that it was my own fucked-upness that had kept me silent. Hey, sometimes things work out in your favor in spite of yourself.

Seriously, though, what could I say? Was there any kind of good answer to explain that I'd wanted to prove to everyone, once and for all, that Fer was mine, and that Borja and anyone else, should know that?

"I got carried away," I muttered, water dripping from the end of my nose.

Fer cocked his head, considered me. "Cut the shit. Can't you just admit that you're jealous?"

"I did. I told you already-"

"Fuck that! This is beyond the norm for a friend who's threatened by a new lover. I know that I spoiled you when we were together, giving you all of my attention, my free time, my affection, but, Christ, David, you have to fucking let me go now."

My throat closed up. Let him go? Let him go? What was he, fucking crazy? Didn't he know that I couldn't let go? That I couldn't give up on him, that I couldn't just bail on whatever the fuck it was that we still had? Didn't he know that I loved him more than fucking anything and that I would do anything anything anything... just to make all the fucking shit okay or go away or not to have happened ever?

I couldn't even believe what I said next. "What does he give you that I can't?"

Fer stared incredulously. He didn't answer at first, just lifted his hands and let them fall again, his mouth opening and closing helplessly. Then, "You sound like a wounded lover."

"Maybe that's how I feel," I answered, quietly.

"You're being selfish, David. I know you don't want to be and I know it's just an emotional reaction, but you are." Fer combed his fingers through his hair. "I was really hurt today, really angry, when you took the opportunity to fuck with my relationship with Borja, to fuck with my emotions for you. You took advantage of me and that fucking hurt."

There was silence then. A long, hideous silence while I wrestled with the desire to clear up everything once and for all, because I wasn't cut out for this shit.

But I held my tongue, and as Fer stalked out, I remember just standing there, my head bowed, willing away this rising tide of despair. My eyes squeezed shut and I breathed in and out, just kind of riding it out for a few minutes, then kind of gave myself a lecture for being such a total shit.

Goddammit, why did I do that? And then suddenly, the answer was so simple. It was all a way to see if Borja could deal with the fact that Fer was mine in this reality, in this way, in a place where Borja could never have him. And, Christ, I didn't know I was such a sick fuck. I'd never realized that I was desperate enough to grasp at straws like that. But I had to try, and Fer had to respect me for that, had to understand that, had to get that letting go isn't as easy as it sounds. Of all people, Fer should have known that.

* * *

I generally didn't smoke pot first thing in the morning. It just seemed like a bad idea to show up at school baked, not that I didn't think I could function while high.

At that point I sometimes thought I could function as David Fucking Ferrán while dead.

That day, though, I sucked down a nice, fat joint and dressed for school in a pleasant haze. Pain was out there somewhere and I didn't really want to think about it. So I pulled on my pants, my rattiest button up and shoes. Coat, keys, out the door.

The school turned out to be buzzing with gossip. Everyone had heard about the explosion between Fer and I the day before. Everyone knew that Fer had stormed off and that I had left with nothing but a devastating look on my face. I heard the whispers:

_I always thought they got back together until Fer showed up with the new guy._

_Maybe that's what David's so upset about. Maybe Fer dumped him._

_No, that's not what I heard. I heard David got fed up and dumped Fer's ass._

I just walked on without comment. Who fucking cared what they thought?

Sometimes I felt like a character in some damn book; or maybe a whole series of books. Sometimes I think the book is a romance. Sometimes it's pure drama. Sometimes it's like some black comedy.

But whatever the genre, most of the time the book just didn't seem to make sense; like it's been really badly written with an almost incomprehensible plot.

Otherwise, how the fuck did I wind up so far, in every sense, from where I wanted to be?

* * *

In the haziness between coming down from drunk and making my way toward sober, when things were still glittery and vague but a rational thought sneaked its way in, I mused about how things could be Different.

I had to do it when I was still drunk or high or stoned or tripping, because when my brain was overran by a controlled substance, it's much easier to pass it off as the liquor or drugs talking. Scenarios flicker before me and my brain takes them out of context, down avenues of Maybe and What Could Have Happened and If Only.

Bad memories were always the easiest to recall, but most of the time a good one would slip through, surprising in its novelty, fucking up the pure, clean indifference that I was working so hard to cultivate. See, that was the problem, take in enough alcohol and the control started to slip and all that was left was what I wanted, what I needed, and there were times I was so close to finding myself serenading Fer under his fucking window, I scared the shit out of myself.

At least I didn't cry. Not on the outside at least. But I was an expert at pain management anyway, right? Except that this time the usual techniques didn't work very well. The drugs and the booze just left me feeling too out of control.

And of course, as everybody knows, there's a lot to be said for numbness. There was the lack of pain, for example.

But there was also the lack of joy.

By then I was just this fucked up drunk stoner who couldn't even think about the consequences of what he did, but the problem with that course of pain management is, it was only effective while in play. Afterwards, embarrassment and regret often increased the misery I was trying to escape.

That's why, after a while, this is what I decided: fuck beer and weed. Fuck breakfast and lunch and dinner and snacks and drinks and parties. Fuck Fer and fuck his boyfriend and fuck the one before that. And fuck school, fuck the teachers, fuck Jorge, fuck Paula, fuck the stupid fucking students who couldn't stop asking me about being straight, being gay, being straight before being gay. And fuck my parents. Just fuck everything. Just walk. Walk without thinking. Walk for silence. Walk for motion. Walk to just shut the fuck up inside. Walk.

Then do something completely stupid and absolutely out of character just to distract yourself from the pain. Check.

That's how the motorbike accident happened.

I couldn't tell you how that changed things, but it did.

Fer and I eventually reconciled, and he made a point to spend some time with me. Hell, I even started getting along with Borja. Anyway, Fer and I started hanging out again and spent some evenings, "just like old times." But there was nothing like old times about it anymore. At least not for me. I went through stages of totally not giving a shit at all to feeling things so deeply I couldn't stand to be in the same room with him.

Those evenings were protracted lessons in denial and frustration. Fer always looked sexy and appealing in his comfortable clothes, laughing and sharing stories, telling me amazing and funny shit that happened at home or with our friends. I would sip my beer and smile, add my own thoughts to the conversation and fight the urge to pin Fer right then and there and suck him off.

Once in awhile, I would make the effort to greet him while he's with Borja and visit with the happy couple, just to prove that I had nothing against their relationship and that I recognized their 'togetherness'.

See, I wasn't what Fer needed, what he deserved, so all I could do was hope that while they were together, that I could somehow have maybe… something. Friendship, maybe. I don't know. Just something. So I didn't have to really lose him. Not completely.

After some time, though, I started going back to being the pathetic little fag I felt myself become after Fer and I split. I couldn't concentrate on anything, let alone be strong enough to deal with really being a part of his life again. Yet I had to pretend I was; had to hang on at all costs, because he was the only thing I had. My parents had split up, my dad was too far away, my mother still resented the fact that I was gay, my grades were for shit, and I blamed myself for everything. Fer was the only thing I had left. So I hung on desperately, letting myself become more and more pathetic until the Borja thing became more and more serious and the whole pretense that I was okay, that I was fine, that I was capable of making a real healthy friendship with Fer fell apart.

Things became more complicated again when after a night of drinking and casual hanging out, Fer told me that he was still in love with me. I was pulled into him as we kissed, like we were alone, like we weren't surrounded by what felt like a million curious eyes. I felt myself leaning against him like I'd never been anywhere else, like I had no idea there was anywhere else to be.

Then he changed his fucking mind again.

After days of agony wondering whom he'd want to be with, of course he chose the mature, responsible one. He agreed to marry Borja, and I felt my world explode.

I attended their bachelor's party, and as Fer followed me into the restroom to confront me about some of the stuff I'd been doing ever since I found out about their wedding, the feeling of helplessness grew until I felt caged, trapped in my own anger. I ran a hand on my face, standing there just seething, and had the overwhelming urge to fight or fuck or scream or hit; I needed an outlet because this is just too much goddamned feeling for one day.

Because there was an inevitability that I'd known for some time: Fer owned my heart and soul. In ways anyone else never quite could and that thought made me all anxious and hyper and down all at the same time. I may have superpowers all my own, but Fer... he's this locker door I willingly walked into one day, not really knowing what I was opening myself up to, and then, months later, I found myself standing on a ledge, exposed and vulnerable.

I almost jumped off. Almost went through with my half-assed plan to dodge the torpedoing pain accompanying the whole 'Fer marrying Borja' thing by offing myself in some fucking dramatic way that would have sent everybody's world reeling on its axis. But...

I could tell myself that my parents would be just fine; that they wouldn't even really know the reason to what I'd done. If I just fell off a damn ledge everyone would put it down to booze or drugs and eventually they'd be relieved that I wasn't around to fuck with their heads anymore.

But Fer... he would have known. He knew me too well, and he'd probably be able to forgive me eventually, but he never would have forgiven himself. And I just couldn't fucking do that to him. So instead of going out in a blaze of glory - or actually, dying broken and bloody and pathetic, I decided to reach back for Jorge's hand, cry my fucking eyes out, then resolved to crash that fucking wedding to spill my guts and heart in front of everyone once and for all.

I knew these were the possibilities: First, Fer loves Borja, Borja loves Fer, and then frankly the only thing I could do was exit the relationship. It's over. Second, Borja loves Fer, Fer is ambivalent about both me and Borja, uncertain. I could clear the way for Borja to fill the void, or I could fight for Fer - my choice, really. Third, Borja loves Fer; Fer is attracted to Borja physically, but is still in love with me. That's more problematic, right? Even if I clear out, Borja still has a long way to go to get past Fer's emotional baggages. Fourth, Borja loves Fer; Fer is a confused raging mass of conflicts and has no idea what he wants or how he feels about anything. He is in pain, is terrified, is lost. Fifth, Fer is using Borja as a band-aid, because Fer is a confused raging mass of conflicts and has no idea what he wants or how he feels about anything. Either way, all three of us are porked.

Yeah right, like there was a fucking shitload of uncertainty about how it would all play out.

_'I just don't understand why you insist on being so miserable,'_ I said to myself the whole ride through the church. _'At this point, all you have to do is ask him to come back, and this time do it properly. Like you really fucking mean it, because you do. He's got his own shares of blame, you both know that, but you keep fucking up yourself, pushing him off until he lost his fucking mind and decided to make a life with somebody else._

_To make a life without you._

_And he can't, David. Just like you can't start over without him._

_If he turns, if you lose him … you'd be so completely fucked that it doesn't matter how much you try to pretend; there won't be anything left. So there's no point trying to hold back. You have to go for broke this time. Because there won't be anything, anything at all, if this falls apart.'_

I knew then, right at that moment, that my soul would be dependent on my relationship with Fer for the rest of my life. Hey, I know how that sounds, but who the fuck ever said I was right in the head, anyway?

And you can call me a fucking sap, but nothing that Fer and I had done for, to, and because of each other, for good or for ill, had made me believe that we weren't meant to be together and good for each other and yes...fucking soul mates.

Which means my choices are to make him go without something that he wants and deserves, or stand aside and let some other asshole give it to him.

Fuck that.

I got out of the car, walked to the door, waited a second, then swooped in to collect my erstwhile Cinderella. Hey, I never said I didn't appreciate a little drama now and then.

I walked in, and my heart began to thunder louder than a herd of stampeding stallions. I spotted Fer almost immediately, standing still, glowing in the reflection of the sunlight behind me.

As promised, I spilled my heart and guts in front of everyone, and Fer was so fucking overwhelmed that he actually walked out of there. Alright, I admit to being freaked out when he attempted to ignore what I just did and acted like he wanted to go through with the wedding anyway, but Borja of all fucking people saved us from the heartache.

I followed Fer outside, and basically told him that it was time that we canned all the fucking drama and just lived a life together like normal people did. In a sweeter, more dramatic way, of course. I had a whole speech tumbling from my mouth there, and I meant every word.

Fer stood up then and walked up to me as it began to rain. The déjà vu was overpowering. I remembered a similar scene, now more than a year in the past, when Fer and I connected for the first time under a similar rain.

Fer angled his face to mine, and I suddenly realized I wasn't going to do all the work here. I worried for a moment that Fer would find the balls to lie and say he wasn't in love with me anymore, to push me away and walk out for good, but then Fer was kissing me and the world expanded to be just him and me and the sound of the water and the taste of each other's mouths. We were outside time, outside space, and those were the only things that existed, that were real. .

My stomach lurched as Fer deepened the kiss, not even sure of where my hands were or what we were doing. I didn't care, as long as I was touching Fer. I let myself go to memory and instinct, nibbling on his lips and hoping it would bruise and serve as a sign that I belonged to someone, that Fer was mine.

Nothing else mattered. Our time apart wasn't long enough to forget the way Fer liked to kiss or where his hands tended to wander first. I got to relive the memory of what Fer's hot breath felt like on my face, how it could send shivers through my body. It reminded me of what Fer looked like when we were fucking, the way his head tilted forward and back or that slightly distracted look of concentration on his face or the way he said my name, half-grunted and half-murmured. This, right now, was what everyone in the world spent their lives striving to reach, and I had it again, at least for a little while.

For a moment afterwards, I held my breath, waiting for a reaction. There was a possibility that Fer would just leave anyway, and I knew that if he did, I'd have to let him go. Only I didn't want to let him go.

"We're fucking idiots," Fer sighed, his face buried in my neck.

I had to agree with him there.

Fer lifted his head, the beginnings of a smile on his lips as he brushed my damp hair, and I could only finally breathe again, because I realize now that Fer wasn't going to leave. "No more bullshit," Fer said. "We're fucked up enough, we don't need help."

"Agreed," I said.

"And we're never allowed to go that long without doing that again."

"Ever?"

Fer didn't answer that, but I hadn't expected him to. This didn't fix everything, but it was a start.

And if you knew all there was to know about Fer and me, everything that had happened before both good and bad, perhaps you'd forgive me for thinking that for all the myriad of ways the fates had ever fucked with us, they made up for it in that moment.

I figured Fer's going to be one of those constants in my life. I hoped he will be, anyway. I was introspective enough to know that something inside me needs what Fer provides, and vice-versa.

We'll fight, and Fer will act like a girl sometimes and I will get annoyed with him, and I know it will happen because that's what always happens. And sometimes I'll get into this weird mood and be irritated with Fer over nothing, and Fer will hate me for half a day and then text me while I'm in the middle of a class with a smiley face, and I know it will happen because that's what always happens. We'll make up and then fight again and then make up, because that's how we are.

It's just what we do.


	5. Disarmed: Fer's POV

**A/N:** Some ideas expressed by Fer in this chapter are not necessarily correct, or in keeping with David's views as found in Chapter 4. They are what Fer tells himself during his self-reflection - his own personal truths.

* * *

**FER'S POV**

I'd been brought up by the belief that God works in mysterious ways, and I couldn't help but wonder if this is what had been meant for me. Not just him, but *us*. Not David or Fer, but David and Fer, and that thing we have that is more than love - at least more than the normal, mundane love the rest of humanity live on. The great inspiration of my life, ruining me for the world.

Us. A magical word, a mindbending concept, this way that two people who barely knew each other, had nothing in common, became an 'us'.

I'd start at the most compelling part but I'm not really sure where that is.

Nothing too shocking to report - David didn't need any mystique to turn heads, drop jaws, awaken dicks, flutter hearts... because he was simply fucking amazing. He had no inhibitions, no expectations, everything was brand new and surprising and fascinating. He loved what I did for him, and he loved to reciprocate. We just fell into the pureness of experience and age and everything that went with it. David's existence put a whole new energy and meaning to my own, and there was simply no way to recreate how being with him made me feel. He always felt warm and loving and there and mine, and I'd never been happier in my entire life.

That moment in my life was worth saving, no matter what happened to the rest.

During all that time when I desperately wished to be with David, I had no real idea of what it would mean to actually have him, which I guess was a good thing. After we got together, I looked to him for comfort and love, and he gave them willingly with unrestrained determination, gifts that I first appreciated insufficiently, but later would come to value above all else.

It's not just about the way he moved, or spoke, or how he could make me weak in the knees when he cocked his head a certain way. It's about being a heartbeat away from the sheer intensity of his next actions or reactions, whether they were right or wrong. He directed happiness and anger and strength and life all around him.

Every relationship that has passed had suffered in some ways. From paradise to earth. For David and I, that journey has taken twice as long. We'd been to hell, too.

I was never one to ignore the harsh facts of reality. I spent a few pointless years wishing I wasn't gay, wasn't a fucking faggot, a pansy, a freak, but the fact was, I was. The only thing to do was to do it better than every other faggot pansy freak in town, which I actually managed to succeed at a little bit. Because I did it with style. I found love, easily enough, undeservedly even, and I had it better than every other sentimental twat like me who thought love was roses and candles and holding hands in the moonlight.

David and I complimented each other beautifully. I bet we turned heads everywhere, and not because people couldn't figure out what in the hell the two of us were doing together. In fact, it was just the opposite - one look and you knew and understood and probably approved, if you had the eyes to see it or a heart to feel it. We looked like we belonged together, like there would never be a question as to why we were. We reveled in that truth and in each other, and it showed in the grace, comfort and love that was very visible between us.

We kissed like in the fairy tales. Sweeping, long, passionate...far above the madding crowd. An "I promise"...an "I love you"... an "I'll take you over Them any day."

The first time David told me that he loved me, we just got done scratching our names on a street overpass, and David said, "You know, words aren't enough at times like this, so let's just do this-" and he snapped a picture, and I knew then that it would be hard work but that it would be real.

And, sometimes, I think the bastard meant for it *all* to happen. That he planned it that first night, when he drunkenly kissed me and somehow thought I tasted like something worth his completely insane adoration.

He was always like that.

Always made me get low and vulnerable and achy. Held me close... looking at me like I built the world in a day and there were times when I almost believed I did.

The thing is, David was a good person and loved me with such goddamn ease that it blew my mind. And I loved him back, not just on principle, but with a gut-wrenching intensity of emotion that blurred everything else at times. I was not petrified of loving David. I was petrified of losing him.

After all, maybe there's a price to pay when everything you want can actually be yours, you know?

There couldn't have been two more mismatched, happier souls on the planet, really. We talked about things. Confidences, private matters. The sort you shouldn't overhear even if you could. It was the only way I could think of to be a part of the experience, and I'd been determined to be a part of -everything- in David's life. David had to have known, and at some point he probably thought I was a fucking moron for bugging him about everything, but he had just smiled that indulgent smile he had and answered every single question I asked.

There were promises made and sealed, we agreed that we would be together content and happy forever, and then, well...

Someone had been less than amused at us, obviously.

Youth have their own intrigues and drama, right? In each of us lies that potential for suffering, for vulnerability, but also goodness, however hidden under layers of indifference or imperviousness or failure or even violence and evil.

Which is just a more elegant way of saying that we fucked up. A lot.

Reality crashed in with an agonizing suddenness before David and I even really had the chance to fully acknowledge our newfound moments of happiness. We both knew we were going to get hurt, of course. However this little "love affair" went, it was going to hurt.

Once I conceded, if only to myself, that I was going to get my heart broken, I found it much easier to manage. It's pathetic, but true: as far as I was concerned, the sun shone out of David Ferrán's ass. The light in my fucking life beamed from David's sudden smiles, glinted in the corner of his eyes, and shone from strands of his hair. The twist in this hideous fairy tale is that when we devoted ourselves to each other, we were young and extremely stupid. Whether or not we acknowledged the inevitable outcome did not change that one bit.

I remember skydiving with Yoli once. I realized then that it wasn't too different from falling in love. It was not floating on cotton-candy clouds, but this: a breakneck plunge from a ludicrous height, icy wind that burns your lungs, vertigo to make you want to puke and the deadly haul of gravity on your breakable bones. It's an act of such profound and pointless stupidity that I almost forgot to pull the cord on my parachute, and I knew that one similarity between skydiving and being in love is that I knew that for both, the sudden stop was going to shatter me.

The fall seemed neverending, and I remained dizzy and breathless. David was on cloud nine. "I love you," he said, every morning and every night, urging it on me with all of his passion. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

It wasn't like I woke up one day and realized that the only thing I'd ever expected from him was that he would always stay the same. Life wasn't like that, and I knew that a certain amount of repressions and arguments was the lubricant that kept everyone from killing each other.

It wasn't like I woke up one day and finally realized something I never ever figured out before: that David only had faith in things that were hard, that David liked being pushed until he couldn't give any more. Love wasn't like that, and there were probably a million reasons why David and I worked to match with the other million reasons why we shouldn't have.

It's the things that some people never saw. The things even *I* didn't see most of the time. The way he let me kiss the side of his face and his neck and how he even arched up against my lips...the way he slung an arm around me as we walked up the streets and kissed *my* face, *my* neck, no matter who was watching...the way he groaned into my mouth when he kissed me so passionately that I didn't know whether to live or die from the joy of it...

The way he looked when he thought I wasn't paying attention.

A little terrified. A lot hopeful. Definitely happy.

David was my real first. Really my only. The only person who had done everything, been everything, been everywhere inside me. He owned a piece of me. A piece I was afraid he couldn't ever give back. None other could even remotely touch that empty place in the Fer puzzle...the place that David Ferrán got to first.

I'd known that investing so much worry and hope in another person was a bad idea, but I didn't care. Everyday, I struggled. I fought to keep him. I knew that I needed him to hold onto me even when I'd left, walked away, even when I'd told him to get out, to fuck off.

Somewhere, deep down, I suspected the end would come. It'd come in the form of another man or boredom or some unhappiness I couldn't anticipate because it won't be my own. Somewhere on the edge of our peripheral vision, the ground would rush up to meet us. It was inevitable, but in the meantime, I decided, I'd fall in style, and do it better than everyone else.

When I think back to the horrible things that David and I inflicted on each other, a heavy weight settles on my chest and I remember every breath, every moment – every choice we'd made. How I wish, more than ever, that there were always black and white answers, guaranteed to be correct, because a life of unquestioned absolutes is much easier than having to discover all the little truths for yourself.

But then I get reminded that we were still only kids after all. Stupid, wide-eyed kids in a fucking high of a relationship where we let ourselves be too open and vulnerable for one another.

Stupid, wide-eyed kids who could smarten up way, way, too fast by finding things out in hard, hard ways.

And I know that no matter how many times I slide against David and whisper "I love you... I'm happy being with you, and I want you safe..."

He'll never really be safe.

And, as long as I love him, neither will I.

* * *

When David's parents found out about us, I knew it would be awhile before I could figure out where David's head really was in all of it. At first, he'd act like he thought he was supposed to act, then he'd try acting like everyone else wanted him to act, then we'd get to the real reaction.

There wasn't a hell of a lot to say about it. It was all fucking shit, we all behaved like fucking shit, and I have no choice now but to live with the memories of it all.

The problem is this: it wasn't David's ideal son image or his parents' expectations that made it all wrong. It wasn't cruel-world angst or repayment for sins. It wasn't fear or rejection or anything they went on about on Oprah, in self-help books or Dawson's Creek.

David was gay. That was their problem.

Time passed and a lot of shit went down, until David finally defended himself and our relationship, and despite all the grief and strife, it was sort of impossible to feel too defeated after all of that. David's courage was captivating. I wanted to tell him how I felt. How much I admired him. How much I admired the man he was, the man he was fighting to become. How much I appreciated the battle he was putting up for us.

Whether it was the gentle buzz from happiness, or his actions finally sinking in or just the sudden knowledge that no matter what his coming out had cost him there was no going back, and he wouldn't if he could, David suddenly and amazingly felt truly free. I could almost feel the giant boulder getting lifted off of his shoulders.

After a while, all that drama sort of faded into the background.

Subject closed.

But a lot more would open up.

Our actual knock-down, dragged out fights were rare; usually we settled things after a cutting remark or two. Or a make-out session, depending on how sorry we were. David said sorry a lot.

Even though there were times I know I didn't deserve sorry.

As usual, when we were going along too comfortably and looked like we might actually make it to "happy", my damned Fer self-destruct gene kicked in and I started to behave like a complete idiot.

Did I mention that I fucked up a lot? Now that you know, consider this a fair warning.

It started with me getting all excited because I just had this awesome idea of creating a gay association at school. I had expected David to go along and be as excited as I was, but when he didn't react the way I expected, well...I sort of blew it out of proportion.

I remember starting off with, "What's the matter, wouldn't it make you happy?" Which wasn't really the problem.

David said he wasn't really into associations, which was fair enough, so I replied, "I get that, but together we can do more." Which I think was just as fair, and my real point.

In a span of less than 10 seconds, though, I totally forgot about the real point and went from being calm and fair to jumping logics. "What, do you now have something against gay pride?"

I needed to get a grip, right? But hey, maybe in another dimension this conversation actually went well.

David said it wasn't that simple; he's not proud of being gay, just as he wouldn't be proud if he was straight. He's gay, and he defends himself his own way. It was an excellent answer. And he was using that excessively soothing tone reserved for the young, old or patently hysterical. The kind that made me want to drive a stake through my head. Or maybe through his.

So I ruined the whole thing by responding, "Well, tell me what is your way, because I don't know what that is?"

That was probably the stupidest thing I could have said, bar none. Jesus, when did I turn into such a self-righteous, self-important fucking asshole?

He should have ripped me for that bullshit. I mean, where the hell did I get off saying stuff like that to him, you know? I'm pretty sure that's what he was thinking, given the expression on his face - he looked pissed, but there was a fair amount of incredulity in there too. Then I got some of the most poignant lines David had ever spoken, full of hurt and meandering around and on the point: "You're being unfair, man. You know what I've been through at home to defend what I am. Fer, when I hold your hand in the middle of the city, or when I don't pay attention to the people staring at us with disgust, that's the way I defend my rights."

Every word David said here was true, and I couldn't decide whether to feel ashamed or moved. Instead, I just went off on him and said, while sounding every inch as petulant as I felt, "Look, I'm going to start this association. You can either help me or stay at home while others fight for your rights. Okay?" No, Fer, there's one more option.

As I got up and started to leave, I saw David giving me that Look. The Look that says, 'What the fuck is wrong with you?' and 'You're full of shit' at the same time.

Which was really annoying.

So I totally picked a fight with David over nothing in particular, but everything in general. I just felt so righteous in my condemnation that I lost sight of everything else. It wasn't on purpose. I mean, it's not like I brought up the gay issue because I thought, 'Hey, I'll fuck with David now.' It's just, looking back now, I understand what happened. I hadn't meant to snap at him, but to say I was seriously on edge was a gross understatement.

David and I went on with our day in a kind of stalemate, but I couldn't help noticing that he looked hurt and almost tired. Admittedly, trying to shove some reason into one Fernando Redondo could exhaust ten strong men. I'm just saying.

Anyway, I was reluctant to accept that he was right. I didn't want to let go of my anger at all. And I didn't want...well, there were other reasons. Reasons that I don't want to think about - not anymore.

David stuck with me through all that anyway, even going as far as apparently helping me find some members, which I don't think I ever even thanked him for. I feel like the biggest bastard in the world thinking about all of it now, and I couldn't help thinking that the way I behaved may have something to do with everything else that came after.

I feel the need to mention that remembering this will shove a knife deeply into my heart and twist and turn and pull it out and plunge it back in. Because what happened next makes every part of me ache. I don't want to remember this. I don't want to go back there. I want it not to have happened.

But this is a significant part of our history and affected everything that happened ever since, so I need to do this.

A picture of David and another man naked on the same bed in what was obviously a post-coital bliss, and God, I could have lived my whole life without seeing that. Nothing else before had made my gut clench with the ice-cold anger, the nerve-ripping, muscle-clenching, blood-pressure increasing, teeth-grinding pain and stress I felt.

Like a disease, a fucking psychosis, my mind rewind it over and over like some horrible dream that wouldn't end. That's not David, I thought, David would never, David isn't and can't be - and then reality and common sense made their hit.

I didn't know what to do, I could only operate on pure emotion. I was fucking angry and hurt and miserable and ashamed and scared.

I spent that whole night crying, wondering in a kind of agonized haze if our relationship had reached its breaking point, one we'd never recover from. Feeling betrayed and vulnerable and fucking raw, I realized that all the shit I'd told him back when we started our relationship about knowing what to expect from him was just that, bullshit. I hadn't expected this. Not at all.

Finally, I had to somehow pull myself together, go to sleep, wake up, then go to school looking like a hapless victim of a betrayal. I felt like I spent the whole day on display just hanging out with different people, half of whom felt bad for me and the other half of whom probably got a kick out of it, but it's like everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see if I'd fall apart.

I wanted to *move*. I wanted to not think. I wanted to go back a few days and just be oblivious. I wanted to be angry, I wanted to be happy, I wanted to feel loved, but it's vanished like smoke, like something that was never there in the first place.

I wanted movement, concentration, something to distract my mind. Anything.

Everything else after that was a blur, until I found myself somehow ending up sitting next to David while we played a video game in one of the classrooms. Is this somehow a part of selective memory?

Horrible memories flickered through my mind and I pushed them away, watching David shift in his seat looking vaguely uncomfortable, worried, but he kept trying anyway, and I almost wished I felt like doing the same, that the instinct to run or move or slap him silly wasn't moving through my body like electricity.

Before I knew what was going on, things happened like this:

Being back in David's arms and the feeling of it, brand-new but achingly familiar, like slipping back into my skin and finding it still fit. Having David looking at me like he did, like there was no one and nothing else between us, not another man, not a space of inches or time or mistakes. Just us, just this. The one place, maybe the only place, that everything ever fit.

I knew that it was something important happening between us. This was, like, a Moment, with a capital "M."

Almost everything inside advised me to stop, get out the door, run as fast as I could some place else...tell David to go back to his old life, go home, go anywhere...because it only got more fucked-up from there. But the small part of me that wasn't screaming to shut down was also the same sliver of ...something that I was sure David had seen in my eyes when we'd locked gazes as we embraced. The look he gave me then was part plea, part command, but sincere and tinged with urgency. And at that moment, that tiny voice, that shred of something that ached to be loved, to have David keep loving me, was stronger than all the other voices telling me to give it up, to not bother trying...that David could never be with me like he used to ever, ever again.

I tried to pull back, but David jerked me close and kissed me, sharing that taste like we've done a thousand times before, warmth and hunger I could feel like tiny needles pricking every inch of my skin, and all I thought was yesyesyes, fuck everything else, I *have* to.

We had to.

It should happen like this, because David himself didn't want me to stop loving him. He wasn't ready for it to be over. He wanted my love, needed it, soaked it up like a dying plant drinks water. It wasn't all just being poor, pitiful Fer who got cheated on and fucked over. It was me standing there, ready to walk but being asked to stay. It was my choice.

And I chose to stay. Because some part of me was still waiting for that story-book ending. Still waiting for the happily-ever after.

* * *

It's interesting. You ask me what I remember about the first time David and I were together, and I'd tell you being happy. You ask me what I remember about the second time we were together, after we'd dealt with his parents and I presumably forgave and forgot about Marcos and we were free to be just ourselves and had all the chances in the world to be content and happy, and I'd tell you hurting each other.

It wasn't really ironic, it was just...shitty.

Still, there was a time when I thought it was our choice. My choice.

So it all started with David saying he was sorry and me giving in. I gave in to the power of David. And this time, I made a resolve that anything that wanted to hurt me would have to rip our relationship apart first, and I'd do my best to take it down with me. I did everything but install a tracking device, all while trying to maintain an outer shell of careful indifference. I did this for two reasons. The first was that I was sure that David's ongoing attachment to me was just a symptom, that the continued 'love' probably was not because of anything intrinsically Fer, but a side effect of his guilt, the exchange of himself for everything else he wanted. But I also did it because I did not want to get fucked over ever again.

I tried not to have expectations over the next couple of weeks. Just because I'd told myself I'd forgiven David, and just because we were back together, and just because whatever, I couldn't expect all the shit to go away. This didn't matter much at first, because there was precious little for me to control at that point.

David and I tried not to talk about Marcos. We talked about anything and everything *else* – school, professors, grades, the weather, our parents, Paula's fucking baby bump, but nothing that touched on anything that could hurt. Anything that could break the scab wide open, because he was scared as I was. And maybe we were even scared of the same thing.

It made me feel stripped. I wasn't sure about anything. I didn't want to be on pins and needles around David, yet I couldn't help but think about how it would all end again right just after we restarted, and I didn't want to feel like that at all. I would have just needed things to be okay with David so much that I just had to forget what he had done.

The problem is that I didn't know how to forget.

Neither did David.

His guilt was so magnified. He tried so hard to deflect any emotional pain by either shutting down or shutting out. Maybe he finally felt the weight of being with me as a burden he couldn't handle. I certainly know he felt like he has failed me already.

Somewhere along the line, David seemed both like himself and unlike himself, intermittently.

See, when we got back together, I think David ended up stuck with me before he expected to or something. I mean, all he said he'd wanted when we broke up was being back together, being back with me. The moment that he had, though, it seemed like that was the last thing he wanted to do. Sure, there was that time of our reunion. David and I playing a video game, him telling me how much he enjoyed spending time with me, then pulling me for a sensual kiss. It should have shown me that he really wanted me back, and at the time, yes, I did feel it as the truth. But somehow after a while it all got muddled up in my head and instead, somewhere inside, I felt like maybe he didn't, maybe it was just something he thought he had to do to make me stay in his life because he needed *someone* to be there.

And oh, I'd think, that explains a lot.

It really didn't, but sometimes, I needed something to make sense of things, even if it's stupid shit.

Anyway, after a while, it was never clear what David wanted anymore. He'd make some beautiful gesture to me or say something really sweet, then take it away by saying something that proved his streak for dumbass insensitivity, or by making sure he'd flirt around with every hot guy within the 5 mile radius. What was he letting me know? Everybody wanted to know why I stooped as low as stalking and obsessing over his actions - it's because he was too fucking convoluted to figure out. I didn't see it at all as David trying to do something and failing for lack of coordinates. In my mind, he should have been much more aware of what I was going through. I was fucked up enough by what happened with Marcos, I didn't have it in me to navigate through the same kind of minefields.

At times it almost felt like he was creating a scenario guaranteed to push me into walking out again. That's what it felt like. And then there were times when I honestly felt like I was just a habit with him. Something he reverted to when he's not all that interested in anything else. And a bad habit at that. One that someday, probably sooner rather than later, he's going to break. Maybe that's fucked, but I'm just saying it felt that way, not that it really was that way.

Anyway, that made me feel weak, and I went pushing for way more than I needed from him just to prove that I had some power in this thing between us. Which, of course, made him even more defensive, and the whole thing just escalated way out of proportion.

I mean, yes, I did think that David still loved me, but I think sometimes I wasn't sure anymore. People think they have me pegged as this needy, clingy, whiny kid, and they'd be surprised to learn that I actually didn't want David in my clutches every fucking second of every day. Though I have to admit that at the time, yes, I was very insecure at certain areas of our relationship. And frankly, David's behaviour did nothing but confirm those insecurities. What I'm trying to say is this: it's not that I started acting crazy because I was insecure, but rather I became insecure precisely because of the way David was acting that whole time. Although I admit that okay, no, it doesn't get me off the hook. Yes, I was still responsible for my own asshole-ish behaviour.

Eventually, everything around me started preying on those insecurities and David began losing a battle he didn't even know he was fighting for.

Don't get me wrong, there was no distance between us physically. In that aspect, we hadn't changed. We fucked just as often as we used to, with just as much fervor as we used to, for just as long as we used to. We kissed and it felt like nothing had changed. We walked together, closer than air, and it could easily be any of those times when we were still starting out with our relationship.

But the distance between the two of us emotionally was vast, and had various causes. David had blocked himself off, building tall walls that were almost impossible to see over, and that, ultimately, no one cared to. There was just something different about him. It felt as if our split pulled a vital piece of him out, stole it away in retribution for what he'd done, and he didn't even realize it was gone.

I remember thinking about when we we first got together, how proud and relieved and just plain happy David seemed. He was at peace with himself, with us, with the world.

This time, though, now that the reality was starting to settle in, the real weight of what he's in, of everything that went on, was he sorry? Did he blame me? It never really occurred to me that he would, but it made sense. He had compromised his relationship with his parents because of me, essentially. And he'd already lost some friends ever since he came out. I'd turned his whole life inside out, and was I really worth it?

It was, I realized, perfectly possible that he was harboring a secret, festering resentment towards me. Maybe it had been growing inside him for so long. He really had lost some, at least partially because of me. And now I was all he had left. But maybe I wasn't enough.

Or maybe I was just totally full of shit and shouldn't even be thinking like that.

I was unlike myself, too. I didn't want to admit it, but I realize now that I was...unhappy, so fucking miserable, but I felt like I didn't have the right to say anything because I'd told David I'd forgiven him, that everything was in the past, and I'd already gotten from him more than he'd ever offered anybody. I used to ask myself over and over again why couldn't I be grateful for what I had. Why did I always want more? Why couldn't I be happy with what I had? Why couldn't I appreciate what I had with David?

Blah blah blah, I know. Aren't I oh-so-pathetic.

I had all these thoughts that I didn't, couldn't say, that I knew what everything meant, but that David didn't. These stupid things I thought I knew, that David's like a kid sometimes, and that he's not used to knowing how far is too far, because nothing's ever been enough and he wouldn't know normal boundaries if he was being fucked by them. But I should have known that David listens when he shouldn't, thinks when other people dismiss, considers defending our relationship to his parents as rebellion, and might have seen the day we broke up for the first time as freedom, the kind that David's never wanted.

As I look back now, I see so many opportunities that were missed where I could have been stronger or more understanding and where David could have done a better job in communicating his thoughts of our relationship and his fears. But as much as I can see now what we could have done differently, back then we just weren't there emotionally.

We were both so fucked up. And the whole thing came and went, you know? All the shit, all the talking, or lack there of. All the arguments. At some point it started feeling like it was all nothing but fucking lies, all of it - what I wanted, what I thought, what I saw, what he promised, what he did - fucking lies from start to finish. And worst of all maybe we lied to ourselves - we believed all the shit we spouted - he'll try harder, I'll stop, we'll start, we will, we won't. I'm not saying that David and I didn't believe what we were telling each other, so much as our belief in them was…damaged, or became jaded somehow. And neither of us wanted that. We didn't need that. I didn't want to be some fucked up loser who was so miserable that he'd try blaming every fucking person on the planet when shit hits the fan, but as much as I hate to admit it, I think I ended up exactly like that.

And worse. Much worse. I started mind-fucking myself. The irony of it all was that I was so convinced I had to avoid the pain, I kept making stupid decisions to force a disaster.

I started turning into something I wasn't, twisting myself into unfamiliar shapes and becoming something I never thought I could be. And it scared me, that what I was becoming could be what I *was* , that the energy I'd once turned on to be with David was making me lie to myself.

It's not like I was actively trying to sabotage the whole relationship in some self-absorbed way as a means of making obvious my secret inner despair, but I hated myself for being too…too weak to talk to him about things. The idea terrified me or something, and I just couldn't bring myself to tell David I wasn't happy. And it was like…the more unhappy I became, the weaker I became and the more worthless I felt.

It was all too vague, anyway. I didn't have thoughts, nothing clear or coherent, maybe because at that point I didn't have any real understanding of what was happening; I just had all these feelings and I couldn't do anything with them.

And instead of being able to hold all my inner demons at bay, they'd spilled out of me from every pore, so that everyone could see the poor, fucked up mess that I became. I couldn't help being angry and insecure and childish. I mean, I could admit that I loved David very much and wanted to be with him more than anything, but the emotions I knew best were still the harsh ones, the hurt ones.

I mean, David never had problems saying that he loved me. Just me. But sometimes I never knew which me he was talking about. At some point, I started thinking that maybe he didn't, either.

If asked, I'd say that we were just growing apart naturally as our lives took us in different directions. But to myself I could admit that it was completely unnatural, and the problem wasn't opposing directions. The problem was our fear, and our pride.

It's just...what happened to us reminds me of this story my mom told me once. When she and my dad were first married, her big hobby was putting together jigsaw puzzles – the really hard ones that took, like, months to put together. This one time, my dad, as a joke, took a piece of a puzzle she was working on and kind of shaved off a side of it – not so much, because he didn't want it to look deformed or anything – but enough so that it wasn't going to fit where it was supposed to. She didn't realize it until she had almost the whole thing put together, there was that one place where the piece was supposed to go, but it didn't...and she couldn't understand it, because everything else had been right. She thought it was defective. And that reminds me of what happened with me and David. It's like, somehow, the part of us that used to click and made us able to understand each other got warped or something without either of us knowing, and we didn't fit anymore...and it made us think – made me think – that all along, we'd probably been ...not right. We kept doing things and saying things and thinking things that we wouldn't have done, said or thought otherwise.

Our expressions were completely at odds with what we were doing, almost daring each other to talk. Or not talk. We kept trying to figure out what we're saying to each other and getting it completely wrong. We were in deep shit. It was all about bad communication in relationships along with the consequences of trying to balance a person's view of who they are with what they think would make them happy at the moment.

And I don't know if any of that makes sense. I have a feeling I'll still be sorting through this for a while.

The way David and I both had our "paranoid housewife" moments as our relationship broke apart and went to hell was interesting. Neither of us was completely wrong, neither was completely right and we both knew. We just danced around the whole thing in such a tragically pathetic way.

As time went on, I could clearly and incrementally feel my confidence dissolving, as well as David's ability to cope with what was happening. Eventually, the facade plastered over the damage in our relationship started to crack. I think deep inside, we both knew that the day would come when we'd finally realize our brokenness, when we had to admit that both of us had NO IDEA how to do this, no matter what we'd been telling ourselves. We really just had no clue how to pull this off on a long term basis. None. We were out of our depths. We just fumbled around and totally fucked things up. In huge ways. More than once.

And having the two of us lose ourselves, feel us break the way we did, that is why we suffered so much. Not so much because we broke up, but because we broke.

Something else happened, too.

Fernando Redondo had sex with one Yolanda Freire. Pleased to acknowledge the world as we knew it was on its ass. Don't ask me what I think; to this day I can't even tell you what the fuck really happened.

I couldn't imagine how it happened, though I sort of could, in a really strange, parallel-universe way.

Maybe it was another sign?

Sign of what?

Shit.

I really tried not to read too much into it, but it's not like I had much else to *do.*

It was certainly the alcohol from the previous night. I'd taken a lot of them, mixed them every which way with god-knows-what, done everything a doctor would tell you was a sure-fire way to permanent brain damage.

But then I thought, everything's accident or fate anyway, so take your pick. I was dizzy from trying to decide, exhausted from even thinking about it. Sure, I'd tried to be good, kept away, but it was like karma, some punishment for a crime I didn't even commit, and I couldn't understand why or what to do about it.

And of course, it didn't end there. When David found out, that energy in him that I've always found magnetic, even when it was fury, was there, crackling in the air.

And there's nothing to say to that. Horrible, nasty words were sticking to the tip of his tongue, I knew that. God, the things he could say, the things that would be true and would hurt, because he knew every place that I was vulnerable and knew how to hit them all. You fucking liar, you're a horrible lousy boyfriend, you're a fucking hypocrite, what are you going to do, how could you do this, how could you *do* this with her, to Julio, to *me*, you're gay for fuck's sake...

They all stay stuck.

David just looked at me meaningfully, although honestly, I'm not sure what he meant by his meaningful look. As I remember it now, all I felt was the panic and low-grade fear and anger, Jesus, the anger David projected everywhere, swallowing up rationality and peace.

At some point, Fer, mature adult and example for all young gays everywhere to emulate when they grow up, decided to date a girl, Yoli, for real.

At that point I was just seriously screaming inside but I couldn't even figure out what the hell I really wanted so I just went and grabbed what people told me I should want and feel. I guess I was just chasing ideals at that point. Heroes, Romance, Stability, not necessarily David or Yolanda.

Anyway, the David I used to know would have been beside himself with joy whenever he saw me wherever possible. This new man always looked like he smelled something vaguely unpleasant when I was in close proximity. He just kept dismissing me and, I don't know, kind of bouncing off these one-liners like he didn't care what was happening. I wondered if this was some new technique he was trying out - acting like my coming or going didn't matter to him. Then I wondered if it was possible that he actually didn't care whether I came or went. Half the time he acted like he barely even remembered who I was, but then when he saw me with Yoli he never forgot to rub in my face that he's the only one I was supposed to be all crazy over.

And he had all these lowblow comments, his voice shaded with both mockery and contempt, coupled with a completely unreadable face and trying to look like not giving a shit, but I was not an idiot. Every time he did so, I wanted to just walk away on principle, because really, David had no room to play the oh-so-faithful, holier-than-thou, victimized ex-boyfriend anymore, dammit. It was infuriating, and being star-crossed and in love would not ease the fact that David acting that way and talking that way was inexcusable and unacceptable and completely hurtful.

I hadn't expected to put so much emotion out there, but I felt that it had to be said – not as any type of justification, but as simple fact. David had to know the state of mind I'd been in when I'd decided to date Yoli, he had to know that it had been a sort of frustrated blindness, and not out of any real love for my girl best friend. When my relationship with David had started going south, I had felt really lonely and didn't feel like I could confide in anyone – and Yoli had provided a sympathetic ear and a mutual frustration about her own relationship. She'd been the wrong person at the right time, or actually, maybe the wrong person, period, and yes, I kicked myself for not grasping that concept sooner.

But David knew, he had to know how fucking much I hated myself for doing what I did with Yoli. I should never have done it, I know that. I knew it then, too, every second that I was messing with me and Yoli and David and Julio, I knew it was shitty and weak and fucking pathetic, and I hated it, and he so fucking knew that.

As time went on, it killed me how inscrutable he remained. Was he jealous? Had he spent any time wondering what would have happened if we were still together? Did he ever think it might just as easily have been him who fucked someone else that night of the party? Did part of him wish it was?

Nowadays, I try not to think about everything that happened. After we had that fight. After we broke up. After I didn't call. After he didn't come by. After I stopped staring at the phone and thinking that if he called, I wouldn't answer.

After I realized he wasn't going to call.

Later, I'd try to forget hearing David recite how very different we were from each other and how tired he was of our relationship. I'd try to forget that I stalked him during his date with Jorge, how excited and eager he seemed the whole time, how furious he was when he realized what I was doing. I'd forget how I watched David in the library one time, wishing that I could sit next to him, that we could talk to each other like we used to.

I watched as David looked like there was nothing to that moment, like we really *were* strangers that never shared anything, not drama or meals or bed or kisses or life, and if I felt anything, well, I tried to forget that, too.

Because remembering it all hurt too much. And it made me scared and angry and tired as hell.

But people change, right? Life does that. Expecting everything to stay static is setting yourself up for disappointment, after all.

I knew that.

But I was absolutely convinced that some things shouldn't. Like my relationship with David. Not for anything we could do or say, and God, we'd done everything we could think of and then some, would have done more if we'd known what, and what the hell had that gotten us? Suddenly, it was all shifting and I just didn't get it.

When we broke up again, we were both just functioning on autopilot, totally plowed under by...Jesus, by how fucking horrible it was.

A tiny part of my mind was saying that maybe I should just let it go altogether. Let him go. Let him get used to a life without me. After all, what the fuck did it matter that I wanted to be with him if he didn't want to be with me anymore?

I'd tried so fucking hard to behave like it was all nothing, like losing David when I was still in fucking touching distance with him didn't completely gut me. Like his lack of interest didn't damned well stomp all over my heart, didn't give me yet another kick in the balls. I'd tried to settle back and just get on with things.

I stalked through school hallways, studying and hanging out with friends, spending more time at Zurbarán but caring even less, not even bothering to pretend that it was the most important thing in my life anymore. Because it wasn't.

Nothing was important anymore, not really. Not that I was depressed or anything like that. There just wasn't that little gorgeous guy to look forward to going to school to every day, and however much I thought the empty space where he used to be wouldn't matter, it did.

The world was washed to black and white, and at some point I started entertaining the idea that if I had it all to do over again, I probably would have never approached him at Julio's door. Never went to that party the next day. Never got to him and broke up with him and taken him back again. And I thought, sometimes, that David would be happy.

I thought too much, too.

Being an observer was my life's calling anyway, but it got painful when I realized my exclusion from David's life was so real we might as well be in different worlds. I couldn't keep up, but I'd never quite learned how to give up either. It's kind of grim and kind of funny.

After some time, I felt that insane urge to talk, to fill up the space with words, about how I couldn't give him up, how I wouldn't, how it didn't matter what he wanted, I'd do it, I'd *be* it, I'd be anyone and anything and everything if David never stopped touching me, never stopped kissing me, never stopped looking at me like he used to.

I mean, at some point, you'd think I'd just tell myself he's a fucking asshole and who cares what he thinks about anything, but I couldn't quite seem to get to that stage of indifference. What he thought, how he felt about me was still so goddamned fucking important.

It's not that I was expecting everything to be a mirror of old days. No one thought like that. But it didn't change the feeling, the tightness in my chest and the people that blurred into nothing but color and sound.

Thankfully, everyone else had been terrific about Not Upsetting Fer. There have been mornings where I'd just sit, quietly, with whoever happened to be in the earliest. Paula always talked. High, hyper chatter about her newborn son or some of the latest popular songs she absolutely loved. Ruth sometimes just looked at me...and then she'd smile, sincerely, and start talking about classes or the weather or anything that didn't have the words "David" and "Cabano" in it. But they were there anyway.

They all had to fill up the gap. Concerned that not doing so meant that I might have to really think about who I was, what the fuck I was doing with my life, and be reminded that everything was my fault.

Alma was the only one who let me sit in silence.

And wait.

She never looked at me with pity or wonder or thinly-veiled contempt or tried to reassure me with stupid, obsequious comments like "you're so brave, you're a survivor" or "some day he'll appreciate what he had!" She left those things to my own mind. And I think that's because she understood.

Did she look at Álvaro...wondering if it was the last time she'd ever see him? Probably. Did she ever wake up, gasping for air, in the darkness, because the reality of loving someone so fucked up, so lost, was worse than any number of falling dreams? Probably. Did she ever think to herself "if I just...if I just keep loving him as hard as I can, everything will be okay"? Probably.

Would she love him anyway even if things didn't turn out okay?

I know she would.

Just like I would, if it was David.

I knew that everything else was different, but I knew the feelings were the same.

My mom was one of the people who made an attempt to talk sense into me, in that roundabout way she employs when it concerns my love life. My mom: David Ferrán's defender. It might have been funny if I had been coherent enough to actually recognize her tactic for what it was at the time: a mother's concern for her son making the wrong decision about the right person. Like I said, it might have been funny.

Sometimes I wondered if maybe it would be easier if David and I cut all ties between us, but I could never bring myself to do that. I couldn't motivate myself to do it, and I found it hard to make myself believe that out of sight is out of mind. Stupid really. I coped fine without him before. But things change, don't they? However much I tried and dug my heels in and pretend that they haven't.

But the truth of the matter was, David and I were broken up again, and being right felt pretty cold, especially when I hadn't been right at all, about anything.

* * *

"David, David, breathe. They're not going to take it away."

How I ended up sitting across from David months later, watching him as he chugged on his beer, I don't really remember. Just like how I don't remember everything we talked about as much as I remember how...weird it was sitting at a table just talking to David. It felt like the weight of all our fuck-ups was pressing down on us. We looked at each other over the space of a scarred linoleum-slick table like there were miles between us, not just time. Too much time or too little, I wasn't sure.

"So...how's everything?" I had to ask.

"Wow! Fucking great. I party all day, I'm having a blast. That stuff."

Right. Because that's really the entire point of that conversation, wasn't it?

It was pretty pointless, really. We weren't strangers, we couldn't be, no matter how hard we tried.

Anyway, we sat back and ended up talking about shit that didn't matter so that we didn't have to deal with the shit that did. There was a hell of a lot of ambiguity in there, given all we *didn't* say.

We remained like that for an interminable period, trading gazes and tentative smiles, though I couldn't help feeling that it was a strange sort of amiable coolness. David seemed fine with talking to me, but he had this weird calmness about him that felt almost unnerving.

Maybe it would kill him to show too much. Show anything at all. Or maybe I just needed to learn to see again. I was hard-pressed to determine which one was the truth, though maybe they both were.

Time passed, and I could see David sort of wrestling with what else to say. He probably thought I was trying to make him do or think or feel or say something, and he didn't want to give in.

I just wanted to go home.

Standing up, I tried to think of some good exit line, but I just wasn't feeling that dramatic. The entire nonchalance thing took up way too much energy. Passive aggressive and direct confrontation were out. David wasn't listening anyway, and he won't listen, because he was hearing exactly what he wanted to hear: nothing.

* * *

Now, if there's anything in the whole world David hates, it's the thought that someone is manipulating him, and I really don't want it to sound like that's what I was doing, because it wasn't about making him feel something or do something or say something - it wasn't about that at all.

Some flashback here, but this is the deal: After David and I broke up, I went on going to class, hanging out with friends, studying for exams, when I met Borja. He came into school one day, and I saw him while I was passing by the cafeteria. He was so fucking hot, I felt like my mouth was gaping open at him. He was a sculptor, but he looked less like a sculptor than like some totally hot actor playing a sculptor. He was working at the school, because instead of putting up with some soulless cookie cutter houses, he was dedicated to preserving historically significant buildings.

We started dating, and I really liked him lot. He was very nice and a lot of fun. He had many traits that I lacked and admired, and he was all of those things without being smug or fake about it. I really liked being with him, but everything about us was totally in the moment - the sex, the dates, the talks, the laughs. It felt good being with him, but I never really projected anything into the future.

Right after David found out about Borja, though, he became this overbearing presence in my life. All of a sudden he was popping up everywhere, like he was some long lost daddy I'd been looking for. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. Like I said, Borja was fucking perfect - if a perspective rival was ever going to light a fire under David Ferrán's ass, it'd be Borja.

But if nothing else, David's behaviour was my wake up call to have my shit together where he was concerned. It also confirmed what I had hoped and feared all along - that he still ached for me, as I did for him.

So, fast-forwarding here a little bit, but I feel guilty sometimes, because I sort of think that if Borja had never given me time to think at our wedding, we'd be married by now, but that sounds like David is my second choice, which is totally wrong. I mean, David is my only choice, always, but I really did love Borja. He was just...really good. Not good at stuff good, but good person good. Decent. Loving. Easy. It was the easiest thing in the world to be with him.

I was just so...used up, after David and I broke up, like there just wasn't anything left of me. I couldn't really remember who I was, but I knew I wasn't the person I used to be anymore, but I couldn't even remember who I should try to be.

I left so much of myself behind that I...

I'd been too scared to go back. That's the truth.

See, at some point, I'd somehow taught myself not to think about David too much. Taught myself to believe that it was all for the best. Taught myself to think that he would just happily go back to his old ways as if I had never come into his life.

Taught myself to believe that if David had really wanted us to stay together, he would have asked me to come back.

When Borja and I started going out, it truly never occurred to me to hook David along or anything, but I knew deep in my heart that David and I weren't finished. The split between us had always felt temporary, which I can't really explain. I didn't understand where Borja really fit in, but I couldn't let David go. I just didn't want to admit it, couldn't deal with it, so I tried to push it way way far back in my mind.

It didn't always work.

So, it starts with the fact that whenever I was with Borja, I spent so much time actively not thinking about David that I was, of course, thinking about him by default. I can remember lots of incidents during my time with Borja where I truly and honestly let myself think, I need to be with David right now, but I couldn't even begin to imagine the circumstances under which it was going to happen, though I always knew that it would. I wonder if I was delusional or a psychic?

But I had to know, I mean really, really know what I wanted from David. What would I give, what could I take, how did I want it to be? I thought about what he has brought to my life. How has he enriched it? How has he damaged it? Where did I see it going, and at what cost? I had to have it figured out, and I had to be totally committed to it because I had to walk away - I had to - if David wasn't willing to meet me on it.

Because here's what I realized: being miserable without David was a whole lot better than being miserable with him.

Okay, so a gigantic DUH is roaring forth from the crowd, but that's kind of major for me. Because up until the second we split, I would have told you that being miserable with David was fine with me. I would have told you it was more than anyone else had ever had. And I would have told you it was enough.

It would have been enough.

But then, all of a sudden, it wasn't. And I know everyone thinks that's only because Borja came to save me, and I guess a little bit he did, but more importantly, Borja made me feel like I should be saved. That I was worth saving. That I mattered. It mattered that I was unhappy. It mattered that I felt like fucking unworthy shit at the time.

And you know, Borja and I honestly ended up having a really sweet time together. Granted it was just a few months, but it was nice and loving and easy, and I really needed to know that it was possible for life and love to be that way. I needed to know it was possible for my life and my love to be that way.

And I guess maybe it was there in the back of my mind that I decided that it was safe enough to have David back into the fold again. It didn't make much sense, but I honestly had thought at the time that I was somehow doing it for David.

Or, maybe that's not true. Maybe it had more to do with love and longing and soul mates and all that shit.

Whatever. WhatEVER. I'm just saying there were a bunch of reasons why I wanted to be around David again, masochism probably rating high on the scale, but also because he was *there*, because maybe I couldn't touch him the way I used to but at least I could imagine it when I tried hard enough.

There was also this: the dull, untreatable pain when David wasn't there, and the way everything felt better when he was, made staying away from him almost impossible. This acknowledgement was tricky. And unfortunately, I hadn't known two things when I gave in to the temptation of him again: One, that once David was close enough again, I'd only want him more, exponentially. David was worse than the most illicit drug in the world. And two, that David would be compelled to cling. The guy was fucking superglue. Though I have to admit that a small glow of sick hope blossomed in my chest when David began to almost need me, while a simultaneous thread of horror snaked through me. I knew it was important and dangerous.

It didn't last anyway, the impasse; it couldn't. I didn't have that kind of self-control with David. I'd never *had* to have it. David conditioned me in passion and affection, what I wanted, how I wanted it, and no one else has ever gotten it right even by accident. No one else made it hot and sweet, something to wallow in and lose myself in.

There were days when I felt like I was picking and choosing through willing sacrifices, playing mind games harder than I can ever remember, and all it did was make all that grown-up responsibility shit and the feelings I'd been running away from catch up with me at night.

Eventually, it came to the point where I felt like my grace was running out, and I'm not even sure what that meant. Marking time had to stop, I knew I had to decide, but the problem was, I wasn't sure what I was deciding anymore. It's David or Borja, but the truth was uncomfortable, because it was more than that. It's running or choosing, and I still wasn't sure which one I should be doing.

Anyway, being with David gave me that strange sensation of being watched, even though it was silly. Why would anyone? That didn't change the way my skin crawled every damn day, this expectant, uncomfortable feeling of waiting for something, though I wasn't sure what.

There were days when David and I were just...normal. And it was odd, just on this side of weird, to be talking to him like he's a person, not the ex or the just-a-friend-now or the what-are-we-today, or come to think of it, the Source of All Love and Angst.

He'd come to me at times for comfort when he was moody. He'd come for school advice, to crow about some achievement, to bounce work ideas off me, to get some news about how Julio's doing, to check up on me if he thought I was feeling sad, or to admit to some worry he couldn't share with anyone else, like the stuff with his parents.

But the friendship thing kept messing with my head. And maybe my heart. I wanted to... control it. I wanted it to continue on my terms at my speed when I'm ready and in the manner I chose.

Was that so wrong?

If I think about it, that pretty much set the tone for our relationship anyway. Me sneaking down the back stairs and having things the way *I* wanted. Things. People. Situations. I was terrified of what I couldn't know, what I couldn't determine and what I couldn't control.

David's HIV scare made me feel like an addict who'd relapsed. David was folded so far in on himself as I watched him and talked to him with my heart all up in his face, determined to do absolutely anything if it just meant he would be okay. If he would remain whole and breathing and healthy - even if he wasn't mine anymore.

I just couldn't watch him break himself into pieces from all the things that he was, let alone abandon himself into despair. I just couldn't.

But still, knowing all I know, vowing all those fucking empty vows to myself, there was that terrifying moment when I savored David's weakness.

Somewhere deep inside, I knew he'd never hate me no matter what I did, what I said. And I was too selfish to let him go, to get rid of something that benefit me...that made me feel good and loved and needed and strong and like a man. And I know that's fucked in the head, but knowing you're crazy and doing something about it are two separate things.

Apparently, David couldn't let go either, so things became more complicated than it should have been. Anyway, I might have enabled him and gave him enough reasons to cling, but that doesn't mean I appreciated being lied to. We had a fight for his seeming attempt to sabotage my relationship with Borja, but even as my face was flushed and my eyes undoubtedly looked angrier than he'd ever seen them, even as I slammed the door and walked back out on shaking legs, even though the next few moments felt like I was sleepwalking through my life, even though every last thing seemed more fucking surreal than real, even then, I knew that David and I could never stay away from each other for too long. I knew it with absolute certainty because there was no way in hell I'd be free of him before he was goddamned fucking free of me.

Who knows how long it would have gone on if not for a little wake up call provided by a motorbike accident, one that I was almost sure he was asking for, given his state of mind at the time. But that helped push us toward another reconciliation anyway, and as I made a resolve to spend time with him again, David took it upon himself to clean up his act and make do for all the shit he'd tried to pull before the accident.

Christ, what he could do to me from a thousand paces. Then he made it worse by coming for me with those desperate eyes of his. "Look Fer, Borja doesn't want to see me and I know I deserve it. But if we're going to be friends, don't you think we'd better start to get on well?," he offered helpfully, and I couldn't help but think he was probably more interested in keeping his bubble from bursting than he was in brokering a compromise.

Anyone with sense might have dug their heels in, but it was like, the day to be dragged places against my will, or sort of actually with my will, so I just choked back another stupid, stupid smile and agreed.

* * *

I ended up at David's house, in his room, after the arcade. Everything was going well when...

I glanced down ...and froze. There, in full color was me – us – me and David at various times in our relationship. Cuddling. Kissing. Staring into each other's eyes, pressed close. Utterly lost in each other. Looking otherworldly in our happiness.

It all seemed so long ago. We both looked so young, innocent...glowing. And looked, well...

We had it bad for each other; it was written all over our faces.

The sounds and smells and voices from those times crept their way back into my memory. I noted how at ease we seemed in each other's arms, how perfectly positioned we were, so perfectly attuned to each other, as if we were made just to stand next to each other like that, to laugh together as we had, to kiss the way we had, looking as if the rest of the world might as well have not even been there. It was just us. Pieces of the two of us, all wound up together, and it didn't matter why or how, because we just *were*.

I was quiet for a moment. On some level, I acknowledged that the photos shook me – not just because I could see my feelings for David so evident upon my face, but also because somehow, I had to believe that it was all true, that the Fer in the pictures - the one that made David light up like a nova; brilliant, hot, reckless, and willing to do anything at all; the one that coaxed him into life and loved him and hated him and drove him out and made this entire fucking nightmare a reality - I had to believe that it all existed somewhere in me.

Needing to turn my eyes away from our other selves, my other me, smiling on the pages, I had to ask myself, why this now? Why now when it was over, when I didn't feel I had the strength or the inclination to make myself so vulnerable again, and when I didn't think I'd be able to handle David looking at me with such love shining in his face again? Why the fuck all this now? And why did I feel like an intruder in my own life?

As I was thinking all this, I sat next to David, and his gaze focused on me with bright intensity. I had always felt dissonant, miscalculated, but when he looked at me at that moment, I felt clear. I felt that if someone asked me to quick name the meaning of life the capitol of Germany the population of Dresden what women want, I would be able to. David felt real, real in an adult way that had not been present before.

It made me real too.

In my mind, I knew I should have stayed away, should have left his room minutes ago, should have held back. Instead, I just sat there as we looked at each other, the both of us waiting for the other to say something, waiting for the moment when we would go our separate ways and think about the things we should have said or done. Waiting for the world to end.

"Do you know how long it's been since I last saw you like this?" I breathed it out, like even making the wrong sound will set things off. "Since we were together."

David smiled, fondly. "And look at us now. We're friends." His voice had a lot of things in it that I didn't want to read.

"Yeah. Without any weird stuff, right?"

"Or me throwing myself at you all the time."

Time stretched. Softly. He knew a lot of things I wasn't saying, and they were on his face, too.

"It's better this way, right?"

We weren't stupid. Neither of us was buying a word of it, but, Jesus Christ, it would be kinder to just let it end there. Anyone could get away with that. Anyone would understand that.

But the flush was sudden and it's kind of obvious, isn't it? And I wasn't really thinking, just trying to figure out a way to avoid the question, because there's only one reason why I was still sitting there while Borja was waiting outside. And it had to do with the only answer that David and I couldn't face.

It's half-masochism, half the absolute fact that everything changed but this one thing – we'd never really learned how to live without each other. Right then, we couldn't even pretend to try.

We can be stupid like that.

Proof was something else entirely, though. And I didn't think David will take a chance and push it when we're on such fine ice. He'd want something more tangible. And I had no intention of giving it to him.

There's no reason why I should, why I should have wanted to. None at all.

That's why there was absolutely no reasonable explanation for why I found myself leaning forward, trying to kiss him. And when he moved his head away, a pain sliced through my gut. I watched, wide-eyed, and waited for him to do something…anything. I almost expected him to ask me to leave. I think I was actually praying for it, too.

Nothing for a few seconds, but as usual he surprised me. Without closing his eyes, keeping them fixed on mine, like there was a writing there he had to read, or maybe just to make sure that it was me after all, he laid one hand on my cheek and dragged me down to his kiss. It was no gentle consolation either; it was hard and fierce and demanding. I kissed him back just as hard, our slick lips sliding together and moving with little reservation, and there was something so desperate about it. It felt so beautiful and erotic but so fucking sad.

Without thinking about anything or anyone else, we had our mouths together in a kiss that blended passion and urgency and encompassed everything that had been special and wonderful about us, recalling all the days we'd shared before and since. We kissed like drunkards, David almost falling into me as though he had nothing else to live for. I gave in to the delirious heat and ice as a million scenes of bump and grind and grip and grope and kiss went on. It was rushed and needy and something about it was too familiar, yet too overwhelming. I wanted all of it, every inch, desperate to touch and taste and wallow in what it made me feel, how good it was, how nothing else mattered, not pride or respect, love or anger, even self.

The moment passed, and it was over too soon. We pulled back, staring at each other, and once he realized that I wasn't going to run out like some hysterical little faggot, he let me go and laid back down on his bed.

It was an endless stretch of time, and I was sure that David was going to say something else. There was that feeling of potential, like the ticking seconds before a storm, when the hairs rise on your arms and everything smells like ozone. And maybe I couldn't read David for shit, maybe I'd imagined everything up until that moment, but I didn't imagine this one. No one could.

I chickened out and spent the next couple of days practicing creative avoidance. I simply didn't know what to say to David, or how to act, and I guess a part of me was terrified of knowing his thoughts about it. Could he have just forgotten and did not care? Understood and hated me for it? Could he still care for me in a similar way?

Part of me knew that Borja was right; if anything, that day had proved that I hadn't put David behind me at all. In fact, if I was completely honest with myself, I'd admit that every time I thought too hard about David, it felt like a giant hole would open up under my feet, wanting to take me down and swallow me whole. But I also knew that if "moving on" meant staying away from David, I just couldn't do it. No matter what it cost me.

Not that I could admit that to anyone, even to myself at that point. I talked and acted like it was all David's fault, when really, I was the one who came onto him, right? But what can I say? Apparently, I became very well-versed in the art of self-delusion.

* * *

Time passed, and David was his old self again. He looked too damn at ease, following his cues with admirable accuracy, like he was working off a script. Or my orders. Of course, David was in his 'I'll-act-the-way-you-want-me-to-act' mode by then. He was brave and calming and cheerful and so fucking sweet it made me want to puke. But I kept thinking, 'don't spook the guy. Lull him into a sense of well-being and fullness, *then* pounce like a psychotic tiger in the middle of an acid trip. And do it with all four feet.' Yes, I knew the strategy. And yes, I thought I knew how it worked.

Once in a while, I thought about asking him whether or not he was finally dating someone, but I refrained every time because I didn't know what I'd do with the answer. Mostly, I'd come in to find him bursting with pride, eager to tell me the latest news on his life. Now, I could tell you that I felt a groundswell of happiness for him for finding the strength and desire to move on, but we all know I'm completely full of shit anyway, so why bother? Instead, I'll just admit to a quick rush of panic at the idea, and we'll continue on from there.

I mean, I knew I should have been thrilled, fucking *thrilled* for him. Jesus, just a couple of weeks ago he got into an accident, for fuck's sake. He could have died, the damage done could have been more serious or permanent. I should have shouted from the rooftops how proud I was of his recovery, physically and emotionally. And I was, I swear to you I was fucking over the moon whenever he was happy. I mean, you think I didn't want him to be healthy and whole and back at school and fucking taking the world by storm? I did want that. I expected it.

But see, sometimes it felt like the whole issue wasn't so much about his ability to move on as about the latest step he was taking away from me, and I just couldn't muster up the overjoyed reaction that everyone might have expected. Like I was just supposed to sit idly by and say nothing, do nothing, while he moved further and further beyond…where he was. Which makes it sound like my sin was one of indifference, and I don't really think David ever suffered because I didn't react *enough.*

And because of that, I was…well, I was just sort of a dick to him. Kind of…all the time.

I started playing like an asshole. I was desperately trying to get away from the site of my stupid broken hopes, to take control back, and forget I'd ever foolishly hoped for true love. I worked hard at it.

There was other shit, too…but that's the basic idea.

See, at some point it started feeling like David and I were both trying our hardest to convince ourselves that we were only just friends, and that it was all for the best to stay that way, but maybe we weren't and it wasn't. Not that I actually tried very hard to make things as clear as they should have been. I mean, no, I didn't want to come across as being vindictive or a bully, and I knew that I couldn't just stand there and let Borja be a pawn in the fucked-up mind games I was playing with David, but that's exactly what I ended up doing anyway. Although by then I think I just wasn't giving a fuck anymore, or didn't know how to feel, and also because maybe it was a part of the deal and I couldn't really resist. I'd played it all ways. Continued dating Borja, hooking him along with the drama I was enacting with David, being a cock-tease to David and making him feel like I wanted to be back together and at the same time going off on him every time he tried to.

There's a particular night that stands out in my memory. David and I were at the park, happily reminiscing about our old times together, because, you know, that's totally the best way to spend a night with your ex-boyfriend.

Distantly, I remembered a night, really nothing like that one, but kind of just like, because David and I were drunk and the effect served to disassociate the present, nostalgia bringing up pleasant tangible memories. Sitting on a bench, talking about our first kiss, remembering Julio, laughing, and there were people just walking around, acting perfectly normal, like it was any night in the world. Except it totally was not, and I had to slow down to let the both of us breathe a little, because it's been more than a year and it felt like yesterday.

It was perfect. There was something about warm nights and all decisions being made and set in stone, sort of, and it was...freeing. Like having everything in the world ahead of me.

Anyway, when I was first dating Borja, I'd thought that David was just using alcohol as a sedative and a stimulant and a band aid, needing the pure sensory deprivation to wipe out pain and thought and anger. At the time, that struck me as either really appropriate, really pathetic, or both for some reason.

But that night, I started realizing that you could also use it to man up and get real and stop being such a fucking coward.

It's not like I planned it all along. When the night started, I really wanted to be lucid, not delirious, because who knew what would happen if my inhibitions got totally obliterated? I might say something David didn't need to hear – or worse, I might let slip something that David probably did need to hear, but wasn't a good idea to say, under the circumstances.

The night didn't go exactly as I expected.

"But," I went on, a bit recklessly, but I just couldn't help this bit spilling out. "I still love you."

David sighed melodramatically. "Fer, you're drunk, ok? Go home." The response was automatic. He was too afraid to believe me but terrified not to.

I decided to be the irrepressible, indomitable little trickle of water and said, despite the frightened thumping of my heart, "Yeah, I'm drunk. But this morning when I lied to Borja to be with you, I wasn't. And you weren't either when you told me you loved me."

David looked strangely blank and vulnerable at the same time. As he started to turn away, to run from the ghosts of our pasts, I held on. He turned his head, almost slow-motion, and that's not my mind doing freaksome things from the alcohol.

He looked at me, almost with fear, and God, what the *hell*? David, who shouldn't ever look at me like that but he did. We were halfway through this, and I was starting to feel the unreality of it.

I almost hesitated then, but I was still feeling very brave from my declaration, so I just went for it and gave him a quick peck on the lips. I wouldn't have blamed David -much- if he'd hurled something at my head right about then, but it felt almost like he was proud of me, if I didn't know better. He must have given the idea a lot of thought at some point because he didn't stand there for long just letting me do all the work.

I tasted that knowledge as David touched my face and closed his mouth around mine to give me the answers I didn't even need...the answers I already had. Challenge. Triumph. Truth.

Maybe I _was_ wallowing in the after-effects of alcoholic bliss, but what the hell.

What I just admitted changed everything yet again, it shoved the both of us out of the complacency of thinking that all there was really left between us were casual smiles and strolls down memory lane. But that night I felt unafraid, because I realized that it was not only myself I was protecting, not only myself I was fighting for. We kissed for a long time, and I whispered without the slightest doubt or the mildest hint of fear, "I want you back, David. We're made for each other."

As we ended up in my house, in my room, our tongues played together, slow and sweet and different, tasting each other and offering things that we had no words for. David tried to talk by tangling a hand in my hair and cupping my cheek with the other. He stroked the arch of a cheekbone with his thumb, brushed a finger over my eyelashes, feathered kisses down my jaw. Said a thousand things with no words.

Face to face, buried deep, deep, so fucking deep that I thought he'll never get out, and if I stopped breathing in David Ferrán's arms I knew it would be the perfect way to die. He thrust and urged me on, absorbing my small gasps and murmurings of his name, swallowing them when he kissed me. And when I breathed "I love you" in a barely audible tone, David squeezed the hand entangled with his and let himself crash.

He stared at me, his eyes open very wide, and it's moments like those...it's like seeing him again for the first time.

Letting the heavy thud of my heartbeat lull me to calmness, I contemplated the truth of our relationship. No, we weren't done yet. And if we had anything to say about it, we weren't going to be. It wasn't over between us. It will never be over.

"We did love," I whispered, almost musingly. "You did love me." It felt like a spell of silence had been broken. My voice was even, measured; quietly triumphant. "We were meant to be together. And it was perfect."

David had that look that was there the first time and the last time and this time, too. The one that made me want and take and never know how to stop, even when I wanted to. Whatever we have had, there will never be anything like it again, we both knew that. He leaned over to kiss my forehead. "Yes," he whispered.

That's how we made love that night, and whatever we had between us should have had its chance to do whatever it was going to do. I was so sure I'd wake up the next morning hopeful and energized, but I didn't, not really. Everything else seemed as bleak and impossible and hopeless as ever, and that flayed me. I had that wide-eyed moment of self-doubt and to an extent, fear. Fear for what's at stake and my ability to hold onto it.

There were things I know I'd wanted to do – try to talk to Borja, try to – well, just try, anyway, but all the resolve was gone. Because what could I say to him? The usual stuff about how it's not you, it's me, when the truth is, it's both of us. I can't move on and you aren't him. And neither of us can change that, no matter how much we might want to.

I knew I was going to have to engage in some intense self-flagellation over how fucking stupid ass I'd been. And God, I felt like the biggest ass in creation, coming on to David and blowing up a bomb like that and just plan to run out, keeping him fumbling around and playing along with my games just to keep himself afloat.

David saw me at school, and his smile was so full of joy and tenderness and deepest trust. As he looked up at me, I was nearly knocked to the floor under the tentative gaze of those eyes. "Because after everything that happened last night, you're going to leave him, right?"

I winced at the cadence of hope that was evident in his voice.

I wished I could lie and tell him what he wanted to hear. But looking into those eyes, I just couldn't do it. Even if I thought that by lying, I could make everything right between us, I just couldn't. We'd been through so much already, so many half-truths and outright lies and misunderstandings, and I was aware of my part in all of those. No matter how fucked up and too late, I didn't want to add to the pile.

Shit, did I miss a cliché there? Jeez, I was lame. That's the gist of it - I was fucking lame, and I couldn't think clearly.

Guilt rippled through me at the look on David's face. Hurt and anger and disappointment. And a willingness to forgive that didn't ask for much at all. It was such a simple thing, and when did I forget how to be a good person anyway?

As I closed my eyes, I could see David, looking at me with that expression of puzzled hurt *what did I do so wrong, why are you doing this, what do you want?* and I thought I knew the answer.

What happened was just an impulse, I wanted to say, but that's a lie, and it's a lie I wasn't capable of inflicting on him.

I saw him again at a party, and as we sat next to each other, he asked me one direct question, his voice breaking hard: "How can you love two people at the same time?"

This is what I should have said: "I still love you and I believe that you love me just as much, but I'm not sure if we're ready to try again. I want to be with you, but I fear that getting back together would just devolve us into something tragic, repeatedly hurting each other and just sticking together because of some sort of fucked-up co-dependency."

Wouldn't that be more consistent with my uncompromising code of fucking morality than withholding information from David that might help him make a decision about his life that directly and explicitly involved me? To just answer a question he had every right to ask? Yes, of course, it would be.

But as usual, I stayed silent. I just wanted to fucking melt right there and disappear.

David's face crumbled. "I was fine again. And then you do this to me!," tear streaking down his face.

I used to carry these kinds of moments around inside me as little proofs of the strength of our relationship, but that night as I watched David cry and realized how much I was hurting him, I stopped, because after that it didn't really seem like something to be proud of anymore.

I sighed and closed my eyes, thinking, 'Grow up, grow up, grow up.'

The words I heard in my mind came to me in David's quiet voice, not simplistic in his counsel, but steadfast. *You'd better make up your mind, Fer, because I won't be the other man.*

So what did I want to happen? Who the fuck knows.

True to myself, I couldn't say this. I couldn't seem to make my mouth say anything. I tried to find words that would give him some sort of reassurance without sounding like totally bullshit platitudes, but I couldn't think of any. Oh, but he knew me. He knew me and yet he didn't fucking know what to expect from me. I just sat there, like I was waiting for more revelations from a prophet, but he'd said what he needed to.

I knew that I was the only living person to contradict and manipulate David Ferrán successfully on a regular basis, and maybe that alone said a lot more about us than anything else. God, it said something so ugly about the two of us. Had we found each other or had we made each other? Was it too late to put a stop to the dysfunctional cycle we were in? It's like we were vested in keeping one another trapped in these useless roles we'd been playing since we've met. Could we break out of them? Could I break out of it? Did I even want to try?

I was playing another role like a born liar, but David had been my friend and confidante and lover. He'd become my excuse and my retreat and my living, breathing lie. Once upon a time, I wanted him back so badly I ached with it, and now it's coming back to kick me in the ass. Every. Fucking. Day.

The problem is, I'd gotten really good at roping David in by inches, but that's all it still was, roping in. I was desperate to figure out how to subject myself to the minimum amount of misery while experiencing the maximum amount of happiness, and maybe that's love, or what love looked like coming from the both of us, but that's not what I wanted it to become, and it's not exactly what I wanted for David, either. I don't know. Where does consideration for someone else's feelings slide over into making fucked up decisions for them?

Change, I thought, staring up into the sky, blinking away water with every breath. That second where you're one thing, then you're another thing entirely, and you're never sure how or why. Even to yourself.

I remember thinking, when am I going to stop being so stupid or at least stop doing and thinking stupid things? David and I had been in a bad place for awhile and I was desperate, that's all, and being desperate made me blind and deaf to the obvious – that David really did love me and always had.

I thought of it constantly, like an itch that never goes away because I couldn't scratch it, and I wanted someone else to do it for me. Just say, 'Go'. 'Stay'. Stop acting like some kind of adult capable of making reasoned, intelligent decisions, because dammit, I wasn't even twenty yet and I should have a few more years to be a kid.

Should have, but I gave them up in a lot of ways, and I didn't regret it, not in any way that matters.

At some point, I wondered what would happen if David and I went over that cliff. What would be at the bottom? Would it be us, apart, living separate lives and remembering each other only when we come across a faded photograph? Or would it be us, living in a predictable state of domestic bliss, married with two groom figures on the cake and a mortgage bill?

And which is the hell, and which is the ideal, and could we survive either?

The truth of the matter is this: I enjoyed being with David. But deep down, I was deathly afraid of what would happen if we got back together as a couple. If we slipped again into the same pile of crap. If one of us started to feel cornered. If we're both fucking around. If neither was really happy.

I was fucked up anyway, plain and simple. I had a huge capacity for loving David but almost no trust in anything beyond the immediate - that's the real reason I was always so paranoid and ambivalent, because so much was being put into the future, a future I really didn't believe I'll ever see, or see as real. My life had turned into a kind of a broken jigsaw where some of the pieces always seemed to be missing.

It's not like I didn't know that David still loved me. At that point, I'd have to be brain damaged not to see that. And it's not that I didn't want to be with him: it's that I was afraid that it'd be a lie, that'd it be a temporary fix on a permanently fucked up situation. David and I will come back together, and we'll talk and will be understanding and helpful and we'll fuck, but then tomorrow or next week or next month, it will all be over again. I'd remember all of our fuck-ups and my paranoia will rear its ugly head again, preventing us from building any sort of stable future with each other, and then I'd remember that I don't want to live that way anymore, waiting for another heartbreak, and we'll both be right back where we were.

Everything we did, we've done before: we're caught in a circle of fucking everything up, fucking with each other's heads and playing on the edge of a cliff. I was just too tired and insecure to go through all that again.

Kind of a rant there, but I knew I had to push David away, but fuck me, it was hard. I guess somehow I'd managed to not quite realize that. I'd known, but I hadn't really *known*.

* * *

Uh...not to be a dick or anything, but David kept fucking up, too, so give me some leeway for my asshole-ish behaviour, okay?

My 18th birthday springs to mind. Either it came and went or didn't come at all. There are times when I choose to believe either, and then there are times when I just want to forget about it altogether because of how fucked up it was.

It started out promisingly enough. David had made a CD containing our supposed theme song. I nodded, a little helplessly, and took it, because I couldn't reject a gift like that, not without it meaning the wrong thing when for once I just wanted to do something right. I inhaled a little shakily, holding it by the edges, not wanting to smudge it with fingerprints. He was asking me to take it, asking for this one thing because he knew he couldn't ask for the other - not now, and probably not ever again.

"Thank you," I said, and I had never wanted to do anything for anyone else so badly in my whole life. He was asking me, and I owed it to him - I owed it to him to accept it as a given, to do this one thing and let him pretend that it meant more than theme songs and birthdays and wanting.

It should have ended there. David should never have promised anything else, just to forget about it later. David had this elaborate celebration plan that didn't happen, because he forgot about it, because he was busy somewhere else, doing something else.

And while I'm thinking all this, I remember how I spent that whole day just anticipating what he had in store for me. At the time, I knew I should be trying to get my head together for the exam. But while I was pulling out my pens and shit, I could feel this big stupid smile on my face, and part of me was thinking, 'Fer, be careful, don't expect too much' but the rest of me was saying, 'Fuck that. David is really trying this time. We can be happy tonight. And that's what I'm going to fight for.'

So how in the hell did David get from we'd been together "four months, ten days, seven hours, and thirty-three minutes" to not even remembering my goddamned birthday?

When it happened, I felt something tied to my heart slowly ripping itself away. How to stop it? Should I? Layered in conflict, my intellect scrambled to re-erect my damaged walls. I willed up anger to hide the hurt.

I was not crying the next morning. I was absolutely, positively not leaking stupid worthless tears after I snatched the giant sized picture of us from his hands, threw it to the floor and stumbled into the restroom. It was bad. I knew how pathetic I was. It felt like there was something inside trying to force its way out and all I could do was roll over and bawl my eyes out.

It was humorous, in a way: well before David's promise for my birthday, I let myself believe that my decision whether or not to come back to him would rely on how the night ended, and I guess his no-show had just validated my suspicions that it could never work between us again. But what hurt me the most that night, what brought the tears to my eyes, was not getting confirmation that David had stopped caring the way he used to, but that I still cared one way or the other what he thought or felt. I had thought it'd be easy to stop giving a shit about him considering how much I was hurting, but that night made me realize that not only did I still give a shit, but despite my best efforts and better judgment, I probably always would.

But that wasn't enough anymore, so I decided I was going to end it definitely. I wasn't sure how, or when, or if I would really have the guts to do it, but I was going to plough ahead and pretend like I did. I was going to talk to Borja and agree to marry him, I would have a speech planned out, down to the facial expressions I would assume in the face of my impassioned decision.

I'd try to forget about David and pretend like I wasn't selfish enough to act like I didn't want to be with him instead of Borja, to hell with what they should do, what they should feel, and what they would want. I'd remind myself every morning that the person I was supposed to be with was Borja, and I'd struggle not to cry because in the small hours of the morning my mind wouldn't be quite clear on the fact that I wasn't supposed to miss David, wasn't supposed to love him still.

* * *

I went home, set with my decision to marry Borja, explaining to my parents that I wasn't doing anything like running away from David or anything like that but really, this is the best idea ever. Just thinking about it brought a longing so sharp it hurt, but I got confused about that, because I woke up the next morning after dreaming that Borja and I were already married, and I was drenched in a cold sweat of panic.

That's how I ended up sitting in my room and talking to Cova on the phone, trying to figure out how exactly I'd gotten to that point.

"Why am I getting the feeling you're about to say something really personal and really not any of your business?"

"Fucking around with someone who's in love with you? You tell me what you're up to, Fer." Cova doesn't just strip the kid gloves off. She throws them in your face.

"I'm not David."

"I know that, but this isn't about him." I could hear Cova in a righteous rage or a temper fit, but there's no defense against that. I took a hissed breath. "Fer. What are you doing to yourself?"

Fuck. "Living my life. Isn't that what everyone's kept telling me to do? Move on from David, be with someone else, get my own life? I'm doing it. Happy?"

Nothing's static. Everything changes.

"No." Her voice was low, looking for landmarks, and I wondered what she saw. God, sometimes I wondered what *I* saw, because looking in the mirror these days was becoming something strange, like watching myself in a dream. Not entirely real, but the only reality there was. "Neither are you."

"I'm fine," I told her, bullshit artist that I was. I poured coffee into the mug I had before me, just to keep myself from...whatever.

"Fer, it's okay to feel scared."

My fingers hurt from their clench on the phone. "Trust me, I have no problems feeling really fucking scared. But thanks for the permission, Cova."

Cova on any other day would have blown up, and we could have gotten right into a good old-fashioned match that would have ended with hanging up, but of course, Cova's like everyone else these days. She's going for the medal in unpredictability. And hell, she may win. "Who are you pissed at, Fer?"

God, why did everyone feel this stupid need to analyze me?

"Fer, think about this very carefully, okay? God knows, Julio's going to be pissed." Yes, Cova, because I was really doing all of this for Julio. What the fuck. "And you're not going to be happy either."

I looked down. "What makes you say that?"

"You take it with you wherever you go. You took it to your house and you took it to the school and you took it to Rubén and Julio. Then you took it to Yoli. You'll take it to Borja, too, and where will you go when you realize that, hmm?"

"Take what? David?"

Her voice changed, gentle as my mother's. But harder than she could ever be with me, because it takes distance to tell the truth when it's going to hurt like this will.

"Yourself, Fer." I could feel my face harden just a little. "You learned almost every one trick for not dealing, but this one's dyed in the wool. Fer, you never learned how to give up. You just learned to run away."

I pushed off. "I'm not running away. I'm moving on."

"You're not moving on at all, because you never give up. You don't even know how. You think marrying another man will change anything? You'll still be Fer and David will be David and there'll always be the two of you. He'll still be in your mind and heart. All of him. And it will still hurt and you'll still be angry and you'll still be somewhere in that fucked up head of yours."

I listened really hard, hearing everything there that I hadn't been able to admit. "I–I never really believed we could go back, even if I wanted to." I stopped, sucking in a slow breath, trying to make it make sense. To Cova. To the world. To myself, most of all.

It's not fair. David and I should have had time, after being together. We'd lost it, because David couldn't keep his dick in his pants and Yoli and I lost our fucking minds and it's stupid and it's unfair and it's wrong, but it doesn't make it less true.

Cova laughed softly. "Such a smart boy, but so dumb. You didn't have doubts before, you *knew*. You knew what most people never learn, how to go after what you wanted and how to keep it. What the hell's stopping you now?"

Who the hell knew anymore?

This is what I told myself:

I was going to a new life. I was finally moving on; learning to let go of the past at last and let the future, with all its beckoning blessings, carry me forward.

But this is the truth:

I literally just turned 18 years old and had never once felt the slightest inclination to get married that early, and I also think that if Borja and I actually settled down to a lifetime or even a weekend of smooching and TV-watching, I'd probably get fairly bored fairly fast. I think my decision was more symbolic of my desperate need for emotional security than a specific sudden desire for domesticity. I more wanted to feel sure of myself, of my life, and ultimately escape from my feelings for David than that I specifically wanted the life that Borja was trying to offer.

I also suspected that deep down, Borja knew how stupid it was to keep trying, to let adoration and infatuation blind him to a few pertinent facts. The first was: I was never over David. Going off with Borja was a desperate attempt to stop hurting over David. He was, in fact, a rebound for a relationship that hadn't actually ended, not really. Second, he knew that I was never going to find real happiness with him. He suspected before, but the day of our wedding, he knew. Third and worst, he was pretty sure there was nothing he could do about it, except to let me go.

Because this is what happened:

True love came back. David crashed my wedding, wrapped around me, held on again.

David had brought himself all the way there, and was being gawked at by practically the entire place. He looked a little nervous, but not scared. Nowhere near as scared as I felt.

Looking at David, I read everything in the intense focus, excluding all others and everything else. Like there's no world outside this moment, this second, and this picture.

His eyes swam for a moment, or maybe mine did, as his voice trembled with emotion, with … with love …

I was all over the map the whole time, my emotions going from shock to hope to anger to indifference to apprehension. I couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing practical emerged, just this confused fusion of thoughts and feelings and I needed time, God, more time, just to think, to put it together, everything I never wanted to think about, and everything it could mean. I felt like my head was going to explode, but then Borja gave me the push and I just walked out of there thinking to myself, 'Jeez, Fer, David's really in love with you. Wake the fuck up. This is the real thing.'

I sat on the porch outside and waited. As David came up and gave me the most heartbreaking declaration of love I'll ever hear, I remember thinking I'll probably go to my grave wondering if he had that whole speech planned out from start to finish. Some days I think he wrote it down and memorized it right after we split up, because he knew, he so knew there was no way in hell he'd be free of me before I was goddamned fucking free of him.

There was a world of meaning in his words, and I held my breath as my heart widened in understanding, in trust, and in love.

As clearly as I remember the words he'd said, I knew that I honestly never really believed it was over between us. We had broken up before, but even then, I knew that David and I were never ever really apart. We just danced in circles, pretending to love other people or love being alone or love anything but each other and anything but love. I interfered and David pretended to be mad; David tried to be back with me and the whole time I pretended that I wasn't expecting it, wasn't already planning to come back to him, because it was the only thing I could ever do.

I remember how strange it was, just sitting there, but I couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't sound stupid and clichéd and flat out mundane. I forced myself to interject, cough, stand, move, do or say something, aching and wanting and almost pleading but I just couldn't...I couldn't form the right words to tell things the right way. But I wanted to prove something to David then. Make him feel something or understand something about how I felt.

I felt...him, felt me; felt happy, felt relieved, felt loved.

I walked towards him, suddenly just not wanting to think any more. In silence, we stood and for a moment we just looked at each other, taking in all that it meant. One beat. Two. Vows, promises, sorrows, joys, past regrets and future hopes all pulsed silently in the air between us.

The past died. Things were born and reborn.

It started to rain then, something I remembered from our first real meeting together, and who the hell could have seen that one coming anyway?

David looked up at me and stared steadily into my eyes, as if there were something strange there that he was trying to decode. I kissed his cheek, trying to answer all the questions that he couldn't find words for. And he answered back - somehow answered all my questions, all my doubts and fears in that one kiss. So I pulled him closer and kissed him again.

Kissed him and smiled and felt like I might be coming apart. I suddenly realized that every habit I'd developed for what felt like the longest time had been in opposition to, or in accord with, the resolve I'd just broken, and was now unnecessary. There was just me and David, and that heaviness that had nothing to do with the water in the air and everything to do with what David was doing as effortlessly as breathing. The way he could make kissing the one thing, the only thing, everything.

Reaching up blind, I curled my fingers around smooth, damp hair and pulled, until my mouth reached his neck, kissing it and tasting of smoke and rain and heady, unbelieving joy, so strong I could feel it beat against my skin like heat. It was *warm*, David's arms around me, and I read impossible things into every touch that didn't seem so impossible right then.

He held me, tightly against him, and breathed deeply and somehow I knew he's heard me. Heard all the things I couldn't say to him.

Mainly how sorry I was for all the shit I've put him through.

Sorry for all the resentment I'd been carrying around. All this time.

We kissed and kissed and kissed, and David's the entire world all focused into this one moment, pure and heady and scary as hell. And I could tell in the way he fit himself securely into my embrace that I was forgiven, like I'll be forgiven a million times more in the future. Because David was fucking fearless, and I'm gonna be just like him some day.

I thought of the ways that I could say one thing and mean another, and the way David could say one thing and mean everything, and how he always knew the difference. Suddenly it was so easy to explain the fact that he seemed to understand everything I was telling him without words. Because perhaps he understood because he…understood.

When I opened my eyes, I smiled, watching David smile back, that smile that's pure and slow and sweet, and suddenly he's not quiet or thoughtful or sad or anything even remotely like that anymore. He was laughing and teasing and looked like the man he was meant to be. The man I'd always known he was. He was happy and loving and for some stupid fucking reason that made me really want to cry.

Now we're here, and it's all surreal. All this wrapped up in this one moment and this one man, this man who made me feel something, anything, everything. This man that I fell in love with for the first time, for the last time, for the only time that ever mattered at all. A thousand miles wouldn't be far enough to escape it, and a thousand years won't ever make me want to.

Our laters had been promises, that much I'd known, but promises for what, I wasn't sure. I only knew that at that moment, there would be a "later" for us – there always would be.

After being reminded of the key facts of our lives, we walked on with a little spring in our steps, in happiness, and went out into the sunshine and smiled at everyone and everything. That day seemed as good a time as any to make good on it. To move forward, goddamn it. We lived happily ever after that afternoon.

At some point, I asked, "What do you want from me, David?"

"Everything."

I sighed. "Meaning?"

"I want to share your life, Fer. What I want, who I want and why, all of it involves being with you. For better or worse."

"Til death do us part?"

He smiled and held my hand and said, gently, "Let's go."

So, we did.

Me walking forward, knowing he'll always be next to me.

Knowing I'll always be his.

Knowing that has to be enough.


	6. Deviation: David's POV

**A/N:** Let it be known that I have a love-hate relationship with Season 7. I love it because it provided a lot of compelling material to cover, and I hate it because...it provided a lot of compelling material to cover.

17,000 words, and it only covers David's POV from 7x01 to 7x04. Because of course, our favorite fucking episode, 7x05 and its aftermath, deserve their own chapter, do they not?

And I guess I lied in my summary, because this chapter wouldn't be angst-free at all, though I guess you already know that if you've seen Season 7.

Rest assured that I'm still a huge Fervid fan, and that I still plan on giving them a happy ending.

* * *

**DAVID'S POV**

Sometimes I like to think that the story of Fernando Redondo, if I was going to tell it, would pretty much kick off with Fer meeting me. That fateful day, etc. We knew from that instant things would never be the same, etc. Sure, I'd have to throw in some backstory. I'd need some sort of explanation for Yoli and Julio. They were Fer's friends before I ever came along. That would cover it. I could throw in some stuff about Fer's being bullied after coming out, to round out his character and make people a little more sympathetic to him. But the real story would start when Fer met me, on that hot and humid August day all those years ago.

Except it was only a year and a half ago, and it wasn't hot and humid; it was pretty fucking cold, because it was raining. It wasn't even August, and it was all bullshit anyway, because that wouldn't be where Fer's story started. That would be where my story started, because I can't think of anything that mattered before Fer. It's all a hazy mess – there were these girlfriends, there was that fight with my parents when I got my first tattoo, there were these friends, and there was that birthday party where I dressed up like a clown – but there's nothing concrete, nothing that matters. It's all a blur until Fer stepped in and everything came sharply into focus. The story of David Ferrán starts with meeting Fernando Redondo.

I knocked a lot of people off course when my life exploded outwards. There was a point in my life when everything had been structured and controlled; school, dinner, friends, arcade, family gatherings, blurry image of the wife looming ahead. I wouldn't see it that way at the time, but I was 17 and going nowhere. But all of a sudden – this is my love story - I was standing at the sidewalk of Julio's house, and Fer walked over with the unknowing innocence of people before they step in front of a bus or win the lottery, however you're looking at it, and he had no fucking clue what he was about to start. Fer walked over and we went click, spark, and we haven't stopped, and I had been falling beautifully to pieces ever since. Ever since Coming Out Story #92898234, things have been shapeless and constantly shifting.

Madrid, population 3,265,038, was my home, my city, everything I knew started there, and whenever I tried to leave, something pulled me back. I used to think I wanted to live somewhere else, but made excuses why I couldn't leave. But even a few days away made me appreciate it when I got back, made me feel a soft rush of affection when I saw the rainbow coloured lights at night, or kicked my feet against the pavements, and there's the park where Fer got high with me for the first time, and that overpass we scrawled our names onto.

I remembered the feeling. Being in a completely alien world with some strange, powerful man who I *knew* was going to change my life forever. I loved Fer more than he probably ever expected me to, more than I thought I could ever say, more than either of us ever fucking hoped for. Fer was love and it felt amazing to be with him, to see his face, to let myself feel it and say it and want it. To know it forever.

And I knew that's a stupid, idealistic, arrogant thing to think. But that's just the price of privilege. The silver spoon my parents shoved into my mouth prepared my gag reflex better than they could ever imagine.

I remember this one time when my mom and I were having an argument, and she narrowed her eyes at me and said I'd jump off a cliff if Fer did it first. But she didn't understand, and only I knew the only reason Fer would go all the way up the cliff edge at the first place, is to stop me before I jumped. That was his job. I got in a lot of trouble and got suspended and almost died, but at the end Fer was happy, because I was still alive.

There were times Fer has looked away, just for a moment, and when he looked back I was deliberating about an HIV test, my head was plastered with a bandage, my feet were standing on a ledge ready to fly, and one day Fer will admit that he can't keep everybody safe, not even himself.

When Fer and I got back together after Borja, all those months when I thought I might lose everything seemed far away and unreal, because there I was, my life clicking back into its rhythm, seamlessly, as if it never missed a beat.

And over the next few weeks, Fer and I talked a lot about choices. Because that's what it boiled down to-where did we want to be? Find out and just fucking *be* there, you know?

At first, I didn't know exactly what to want, or how to, but I thought I'd come a long fucking way anyway. I thought maybe I'd come as far as I could, and I couldn't hope for any more. It was about a million times farther than I ever thought I'd get and I was grateful, a downbeat sort of proud. It was a good, strong feeling, a feeling of worth and purpose. I loved loving Fer the right way. I wanted to prove to him that I, the gauche stud and self-appointed protector, belonged with him. To stay by his side, in case he needed me.

Or in case I needed him.

All I had was this feeling...that fucking hurt inside because I loved Fer so much. It's like an ache, and whenever I looked at him all I knew was that I was the luckiest man in the world to be with him. And he's so witty and fun and made me laugh and he was so fucking smart and he's everything I ever wanted.

We were perfect for each other.

I'm not exactly sure how to describe what happened next. Some of it is muddled and hazy, some so distinct and clear that I feel like I could reach out and grab it, hold it to my heart and never let go. All of it is very weird.

I knew that most stuff would always be on Fer's terms, and I had to wait until he knew what those were. But it's worth waiting for.

The next thing I knew he was giving me a moving-in proposal.

At first, I thought it was some sort of test, something he's whipped up to see how far he could push me. The boundaries of our relationship kept changing. We'd gone from friends to lovers to mutual saviors.

And then, we were more than that. We just belonged. Together.

Okay, I wanted Fer for a long time. I can admit that when he showed up, I'd been fascinated by the way he talked and walked and acted, and I wanted to be with him. I can also admit that for a while, I was a complete and utter shit about it.

There's also that bit of admiration lurking in my brain because Fer seemed capable of being everything to everyone in a way I myself had never even attempted. He was his parents' cherubic son and Yoli's bestest friend in the whole wide world, one of Zurbarán's best students, my boyfriend. He never had real enemies. For Fer, it was all effortless. Sometimes it's like he didn't even have to try at all.

And for me, all roads lead back to Fer. I'm sure there's got to be some lame love song out there that expresses this exact sentiment, and I feel all corny and Meg Ryan for even thinking it. The eighteen year old boy that lingers stubbornly inside still crows happily about fate and destiny and true fucking love.

That's not to say that I wasn't fucking freaked shitless when he asked me to move in together. I mean, there were all these serious factors to consider. But then Fer asked in his carnal fuck-me-now way if I wanted to know what it'd be like to just sit on the couch together and feel each other up all the time.

_Fuck yes!, _I wanted to scream. And just like that, I remembered everything. _I've always wanted to know what it'd be like, since that day at school when I felt like I was seeing you for the first time, first lost my heart to you, before I even accepted that I was gay, I knew I was in love with you. I've wanted to know what it'd be like forever…even before we became a couple when I was just David, a scared kid who pretended and hid just to get away from the rumors and I'd lie awake in bed alone so horny and dying to just fucking touch you until I'd jerk off to the thoughts of you… yes, Fer, yes yes yes yes yes…_

As I made my decision, knowing that there was only one thing that might stand in the way of it, I nodded. And then, because I realized it wasn't strong enough, I said, "Sure, I'd like that." And those words were so powerful, I thought it must be what flying sounded like.

The timing might have been all wrong, but I felt the winds change all the same.

In reality, there was no _real _encouragement on the subject. Nothing could be bad about this, I decided. This wasn't the sort of rotting facade that my parents had. This wasn't the slow surrender and death of all impulsive, interesting life that other people fell into. This was something different, electric and satisfying, and really, as I allowed myself to address it directly, it was too easy to remind myself that Fer provided everything I needed. And I could do all of those things, too. Be all of those things that Fer's always needed, and I'd do it because I loved Fer and do it because I wanted to.

There were no expectations, no shattered hopes. It was an arrangement with potential. I was in that phase where I was so happy to be with Fer again that I felt like neither of us could do any wrong.

I thought about the first time we were together - how frightened and excited and inexperienced I was - and how similar a situation this was going to be. Fer was going to have to teach me everything, and my parents were going to freak out, and my whole life would be full of new and strange things, and I would be in completely over my head. Nothing would be secure or predictable, and I had no idea if I could really handle any of it.

I couldn't wait to start.

It's a risk we accepted, like all the risks we've ever leapt into, sometimes with each other and sometimes alone, sometimes with our eyes open, sometimes closed. Risks made our blood pump and the time that pressed around us feel like minutes. It kept us alive.

Okay, I admit that I wasn't sure if I could handle everything without fucking up. I wasn't sure if I was old enough, or smart enough, and I wasn't sure why Fer was in such a rush about it, but I was going to try. I always try.

Maybe I was fucked up. Maybe I was foolish and a glutton for punishment. It's not like I'd forgotten how much Fer could hurt me. How much I let him hurt me. Not like I suddenly forgot the little digs and pushes away. Not like I didn't know that Fer will always be Fer, whether we're living together or not. But I also knew that what we had could never be replaced, and that there might be things that I didn't like, but goddamn it, everything else was worth it.

So I found an apartment, and Fer's parents gave us their blessing and financial support. My mom was a bit of a wreck about it, but I just promised to keep in touch and basically just wheedled and pouted my way through all of her objections. Once upon a time, if I'm honest with myself, I taught my parents how to define me and conditioned them to accept it. But clarity and normalcy came when I realized that nothing Fer or I did had any impact at all on how my mother would respond. So it pretty much came down to letting her know that I understood her concerns, loved her for caring enough to express those concerns, but that my life was just that - MINE.

I know some people thought the whole thing was a stupid idea. That... I was naïve. Hopeless. And being used and abused and suckered into something that would never ever work and would never bring me real happiness.

Fuck all they knew.

Because when I took the blindfold off of Fer and he finally saw the huge fucking flat, he just lit up like...there aren't words. There's not a cliché on the planet that could convey how amazing he looks when I get it right.

Then he seemed to switch gear, as if the idea of what the two of us could get up to in that place suddenly got through, and sweet, sentimental Fer just got swept away and turned to his hot, horny, uninhibited best.

I suspected that no one else had seen this Fer. I suspected that this Fer only got released when his emotions and his libido collide and they're both so intense that they pretty much drive him out of his mind. And I have to figure that pretty much only happened with me.

I guess it's all too fucking ironic that for me it's exactly the opposite. What happens when my emotions line up with my sex drive and force me to lose all my inhibitions is...tenderness; so that time itself seems to slow down to give me the chance to caress every part of him, to ache over the taste of his skin on my tongue, and lose myself in the scent of his hair - what would be called "making love". And that sure as fuck only happens with him.

So there we were, in our new home where we're gonna be spending more time together, the place where we won't have anything to do with outside bullshit and petty judgments that still somehow found their way into our lives for one reason or another. We could do whatever the fuck we wanted – he was mine and I was his, we loved each other, we weren't hiding from anyone, and my perspective of identifying as gay was structured and would always keep its kink in Fer's direction.

No matter how scary it was, Terror in Technicolor, irreversible, so real, no vague theory, no logical justification, no turning back, I told myself it was all gonna be okay. We were too young, yes, but most days that was our biggest assett.

Some days it's our biggest failing. And it accounts for that basic faultline running all the way through The Story of Fer and David.

So let me make this clear: apart from Fer, I don't take shit from anyone. That's one thing I've always known about myself, and one thing I'm particularly proud of.

But when reality hit and adult life practically forced me to pull something together in order to sustain a life for me and Fer, I knew that there'll be a lot of shit flying.

Things like apartment bills and looking for employment and money and security and where I stood and where I fit in and what in the hell I was supposed to do with a fucked up school record, no job experience, no parental support, no prospects or referrals, and a boyfriend who could be a serious pain in the ass when he wanted to be.

Fer's habits, both sensible and outrageous, remained. And, like every other time it's fucking *vital*, he wasn't listening. After a while, routine began to erode the almost giddy quality of what I had come to think of as the closest thing we'd ever had to a honeymoon. Responsibilities, time constraints and the sheer press of daily life made it easier to resume our same careless negligence, and before long, we'd let ourselves drift apart, again.

So...yeah. Shit did land and hit us.

It weighed down heavily. Everything suddenly seemed so ridiculous. What a joke. There I was, acting like I was on the running for Supportive Boyfriend of the Fucking Year, playing house with an eighteen year-old guy who every other day kept flaking out on me for one reason or another. Neither of us had any idea what life was really about, what life was fucking like. We'd negotiated ourselves into some domestic fairy tale, and for what? We didn't know what it was like to get up in the morning and go to work and have to suck up a bunch of shit because the rent was coming due and the utility payments had to be made and the bills for our fucking food had to be paid. We didn't even know what we'd be doing in five years-what we *could* be doing in five years. We were just going to flit around the ivy covered halls of academia, pretending to have a… real life outside of classes and parties and the self-important study groups and what a fucking boatload of shit it all was.

You all thought this was going to go all smooth and dandy? Haven't you been paying attention? That's not how it works around here.

Still, I tried my best to hold it all together, telling myself, '_boo-hoo...these are the cards you're dealt, you're gonna fucking play 'em.' _

And because this is Fer and David's epic love story, this was the perfect time to shake things up even more. Of course.

Enter Susana. My ex-girlfriend.

Let me back up a bit, though: I knew the greatest risk with moving in together had always been that Fer and I would choose the safer, more familiar path, repeating again and again the same empty patterns that we used to believe made us functional without the other - and in so doing, forget who we were together.

It seemed like the minute we actually moved in together, Fer suddenly had a million other things to do that were more important than, you know, spending time with me. He kept saying that he wanted to be with me all the time, but now that he actually had the chance to do so, all of a sudden his schedule was always totally full.

I wasn't really one to complain about shit, but there's got to be some big ironic meaning in there somewhere.

And the times he was there, I couldn't help but think he might as well not even be. I mean, I'd tell him stuff and half the time there was like, no reaction at all. Maybe a grunt or a "hmm," if I was lucky. And then sometimes I wished for no reaction because he'd kind of act like I was an idiot for telling him whatever I was telling him. He gets this look on his face that totally says, "Oh yeah, really?" and I'd feel about two feet tall. He could be so preoccupied with schoolwork or some dumb stuff across the room or a phone call or whatever, and I'd wonder if he even knew I was there.

He wasn't always like that. He used to act like whatever I did or accomplished - good grades, an amazing game - was so great. And he did it in this way, that was like, he was really glad for me, but not surprised by it, you know? He looked at me like he believed I could do anything, and his believing in me made me want to believe that I could do anything. That I was fucking invincible and a genius and talented and that my life was so worth living. He made me feel loved and needed, and like every stray scratch I did was the most amazing thing anyone had ever done in the history of the universe.

For me, that Fer was high and low and safe. He was dark rooms, bright lights, loud music, and so fucking good I thought I'd burst into a million pieces. Fer was upwardly-mobile, the opposite of stagnation, practically crackling with life. He paid attention to me. He wanted me around, I was never in his way or taking up his space or being in his face or wasting his time or asking him questions he didn't want to answer. He always rubbed my shoulders and kissed my cheek and hugged me and kissed me and told me I was amazing and beautiful and that he loved me over and over and over and over...

But now...

It wasn't even feeling shut out, exactly. More like forgotten. And I wasn't entirely sure that it was any better than the more deliberate ways we've found to ignore each other in the past.

There were days when I wondered if he really wanted to be a part of my life, or just wanted me to be a part of his. That was the worst. What ate at me were all the times he just didn't care whether I was with him or not, whether I went out with him, whether I was home when he got home, where I'd been, how my day had gone. I hated that he could take or leave me.

How could living without me be as effortless for him, as fucking identical to him, as living with me? How was that possible when the only thing that mattered to me was him?

I kept this all to myself at first. I decided to act like nothing was amiss, and given the opportunity to spend more quality time with Fer, I realized pretty early that we really needed to be more normal, so I tried hard to avoid any unnecessary friction. I kept reminding myself this wasn't really a problem, this wasn't a permanent thing, it was just a blip or something. That the old Fer would come back.

Because what would have been a stalk for the old Fer, the Fer that didn't leave me the hell alone and who would have jumped at the slightest opportunity to please me, was just a shuffle. Even the Fer that didn't give a shit what I said and forced me to take an HIV test anyway, or the one that I helped getting members for a gay association that didn't happen, would have been better than this new Fer.

And I knew, I knew I was the last motherfucker on earth with the right to think such utter bullshit. There were a million things I could do - and not do - because they'd make life easier for the both of us, but it's not like we could afford doing, or not doing, any of them.

So let's get back to Susana.

Fer had it totally wrong. I needed a job, so all Susana saw at that point was what I wanted her to see: a cute, straight ex-boyfriend. Not 'savior', not 'friend', definitely not a 'gay ex-boyfriend'. No ties, all lies.

It was really as simple as that.

So even in the midst of all the drama, I tried not to make a big deal out of anything. I could see Fer trying so hard to stay cool, but it was like talking him off a ledge every time he heard something he didn't like. Though in fairness, I also knew it had to be a huge blow for him, having Susana just walk into our home that one time and look at him like he was the fucking third wheel.

In short, things were getting strained with Fer, and owing to Susana's ignorance of the whole sordid mess, her presence didn't really relieve any of the stress. Thank God for Teresa and Daniela. At least they could be counted on to amuse Fer with their shitty post-adolescent attitude.

Anyway, I figured what I had to do was coax Fer, you know, sort of, calm him down, like you would a skittish colt or something. I wasn't trying to make him do anything. I just wanted him to be sure of me, to be sure of us.

Not that there was any uncertainty on my part. There was no way I was going to choose something other than Fer, whichever way I could get Fer, whichever way Fer could get me, and that had always made the decision for me. Despite everything, I knew that Fer and I meant something, because of the things we'd done, the things we'd shared, the things we'd had to do. That I had every inch of Fer committed to memory wasn't even hyperbole by that point.

It didn't really matter, anyway. It wasn't a real choice. I mean, yes, I liked Susana, but I didn't want to marry her or fuck her or live happily ever after with her. I liked her company, and I still had other feelings about her, but I didn't care about her like I used to. She wasn't the reason that I did ANYTHING anymore. When I was at home or at school or even at Susana's shop, I swear, I'd even forget about it. That sounds crazy or impossible or whatever, but it's true. I mean, there were always stuff that I had to do, but it's not like I was thinking, "Susana is my EX-GIRLFRIEND!" the whole time I was doing them. I just did shit, because... well, because I had to. And it wasn't sad or tragic or too bad or anything stupid like that, it just was.

Anyway, earning money by working for Susana gave me that mixture of feelings that went along like "this is so wonderful it can't be true" and "this is so horrible it can't be true" and "this is so weird it can't be true." But hey, a guy's gotta do what he's gotta do. Fer was worth making sure we had everything we needed. I figured that as long as I was working for Susana, I'd probably have a lot of leverage to make that possible.

I still hadn't made up my mind if it was a good or bad thing. It's just that my plan had been working so well. I was reluctant to deviate from it, though it seemed like the longer it went on, the more complicated the whole thing was starting to get. The whole point of having a plan is that you don't leave any kind of shit to chance, right?

And I kept trying to not make it be. I kept thinking that if I tried hard enough, everything would be fine. If I hit an obstacle, I'd just have to work my ass off to get around it. But now I was in a position where working harder just made the obstacle bigger. I suddenly felt...I guess bewildered was the best way to describe it. I mean, I thought wildly, stupidly, desperately, that everything would work out because Fer didn't want to be bothered with all the money stuff anyway, and I was sure that all we had to do was turn Susana loose on the situation and we'd be fine. Fer would be fine. We were going through a lot more than usual, but I had this kind of weird feeling like maybe I could sort of hold everything together, or at least, stave off the inevitable or something.

Maybe it all would have eased up after awhile, if we'd had the chance to get used to the idea. We were supposed to have that chance anyway, because I never would have come back to Susana. Didn't Fer know that? That's a fucking fact.

People said, 'never mix business with personal.' Not a hard rule to live by. But I fucked it up somewhere along the line. Let the business get personal. Listened to my own bullshit. Played a game that I could never win. Because it's official: my life was beyond a melodrama. It wasn't too long a wait for the day that encompassed everything that was going wrong, and my stoic act was blown out of the water.

Wearing my heart on my fucking forehead, Susana pounced and I couldn't believe I'd let my guard so completely down that way, broadcasting my feelings for her to see.

I knew I had to do something. Put it all back, set it straight.

But then...

She kissed me and my mind shut down, not realizing I failed to move away, as if my lips weren't mine. As if they weren't attached to me, my brain, my supposed good common sense. It made me feel guilty and kind of...stupid.

But hey, weird timing happens all the time, right? All ways, all kinds, but hell, this would be a topper to them all.

Susana was not playing by the same rules. Where Fer's aura of command was silent, Susana's was stark. Evident. Dangerous. She looked at me with some form of primal glee. There was something about her that made me feel confused.

The pace slowed down, then stopped, as I gaped at her, panic receding. As I thought about what would happen next, I wondered how she'd handle it. How *I'd* handle it. But she didn't make any further move. And then I was snapped out of my daze as my eyes just lasered in on her, on her lips, focusing so intently that I think I'd forgotten there's an actual person attached to them.

I looked at her, and she smiled at me so coaxingly, like she knew something I didn't, and then I was back to feeling like shit. I can't possibly imagine what she thought was going through my head, but I can assure you that she's wrong.

See, sitting down with her like that, I realized how haunting it was. A picture postcard. An ad campaign for a four-door family car. Woman, girlfriend, wife.

In another life.

Not this one.

Never this one.

I had never questioned that I would be expected to marry and raise children. The

thought gave me no trouble when I was a kid.

But I wasn't stupid, just occasionally distracted. I knew that everything had changed, so even though I knew it was a possibility that Susana would pull something like that, it was still a bit of a surprise when it happened. I refused to understand exactly what was going on, and I thought I should probably be ashamed or scared or upset about that, but all it did was piss me off.

Because of how easy it was for me to forget and remember, and I knew I was making a bigger mess...a bigger mess to clean up.

Jesus fucking Christ, will I *ever* come close to getting this right? What a shit.

I didn't know, couldn't fucking tell what was going on and this was not part of what I'd planned. It required perfect control; I'd got to get it back if everything was going to work.

But of course it was not going to work. At least not in the way Susana wanted it to work. There's nothing *to* work. I was just being foolish. Channeling the past and that's stupid and fucked up and I was just tired and it's been a long day and I was lonely because I was really missing Fer so bad...

I suddenly didn't want to think anymore. Didn't want to think about what I should've done, about how many points down the line I should've stopped, should've put my foot down before it got to where it got...should've opened my fucking eyes and seen how much everything mattered.

How the FUCK could I let it happen? How could I forget Fer, forget even for a fucking second what it's really like to be with him...how good...how bad...everything?

Knowing that really... the things that I sometimes hated about him...were the same things I loved him for.

His dedication...

His intelligence...

His strength...

His determination...

Yeah, you get it.

I respected Fer for who he was. Fuck, I loved him for who he was. Imperfect. Needy. But still somehow managing to be the best person I knew. Flawed and crazy and funny and sexy as hell. Hair falling into his face and those lazy smiles he'd give me after we made love, lips shiny with my kisses, cheeks flushed. And no matter what Fer fucking thought of me sometimes, I know that he loved and respected me for who I was, as well, whether or not I pissed him off for doing things that I needed to do. He knew it as well as I knew it. And even when he got pissed off sometimes when I wasn't buying his shit, even then, he knew I was in this for the real man he was and not that awkward, goofy image he sometimes projected.

I felt a wave of panic because it suddenly felt like things were back to the way they were before, months ago, when I'd lost Fer...when I was alone and indulging to anonymous fucking, the pleasures of familiarity lost somewhere. Some guy chasing my lips as I slid my head from side to side...thinking don't kiss don't kiss don't kiss I don't like it, remembering why it was so important, knew that I didn't want him there...didn't want Susana there...because I wanted only Fer. Just him.

Because there might be something about Susana that made me feel confused.

But there was something about Fer that made me feel sure.

The moment passed and I went back in and as I was brooding and just trying to get my work done, I heard a customer come in. Susana called for me to take care of it and when I walked over, who the fuck was standing there but Fer.

I didn't know what he was doing there, but Fer tended to be unpredictable anyway, so I don't know why I was surprised. Fer's omniscience rarely failed, and sometimes it seemed like the universe went out of its way to give Fer the tools to do exactly what he wanted to do. Maybe it did just for entertainment – to see what Fer would do next.

Turns out he saw the kiss and came in there to confront me about it. His voice was totally calm, but there was this undercurrent of terror and rage somewhere.

I tipped his head back under the sink, lathering shampoo in his hair, running my fingers through the thick strands, and felt myself get a little...anxious, scared...

Ready.

Suddenly words were no longer words, but independent beings capable of action that didn't have to worry about stupid things like mental filters anymore. I told him the truth. Made him realize that I needed him more than either of us ever imagined...that I always needed his time and affection and lately I've been feeling neglected and forgotten by him and I never ever ever wanted to be in that place in my life again. Never ever ever again…

I wanted to stop talking. I really did. I didn't even mean it, only I did, but I didn't, and I didn't know what I was even talking about anymore. I was just kind of frozen, horrified at what I'd said and yet feeling kind of...justified or, like, relieved or something. It came out sounding like I was mad, but I don't think I was. Not exactly. But then Fer made a face like he'd dropped something really expensive. I exchanged a look with him, the kind that made my body tighten, my breath catch. A silent, unblinking, *knowing* look that betrayed what we really were to each other. Two halves of a whole. Two halves that could never meet and *become* whole unless...

*Unless*. *Because.* *But.*

That wretched burden stopped me from reaching out, from touching my lips to his, from exploring his body with my hands, my mouth, everything. I knew he could wrestle my guard down, batter my defenses with a mix of unconscious softness and hard longing.

So, I pulled back. For the moment.

We ended up just staring at each other and we were stuck there and it felt like a fucking year but it was probably just a second or two. Fer looked like he might cry. I doubted I could handle it at that point if he did.

Anyway, the look on his face told me that we had a long night ahead of us. I wished I could muster more righteous anger, probably deserved to, but I was silently grateful to know that I could still have Fer's attention focused on me long enough to deal with the real issues we were having.

The one tiny part of my brain that hadn't keeled over yet knew that Fer was trying to keep me from getting too belligerent. But there was this other weird feeling, this combination of disgust and indifference and guilt, that was annoyingly confounding. And I knew that if I kept running along with that train of thought, next thing I know I'd be fucking regretting something. And that's not going to happen. Even with all the drama, I knew that I needed to stay with Fer. It's all I had. It's all I believed in. It's all I had to fight for.

Fer walked out and for the next fifteen minutes I felt totally out of it. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, just somehow knew that it was up to me to fix things and to decide.

And I decided I wasn't going to let myself hurt over this.

Not going to be mad at Fer for this.

Because he was just reminding me...of what he was.

Who he was to me.

Reminding me of what I already knew. That he's all I wanted, all I needed, all I could ever fucking handle.

No, I wasn't angry with him. I just missed him. Missed him, missed him, missed him.

Still, I wanted someone to tell me what I should do, because holy shit, I had no idea. I felt a funny kind of panic creep over me as I wondered if I'll ever have anything _right_ to say to Fer again. If this was the road to getting things back to normal, then it was going to be a long, bumpy trip.

Okay, I concede that it was all my fault to begin with. I mean, I should have known from bitter experience that secrets have a way of destroying people. Destroying relationships. But I'd be damned if I let another variable destroy what I had with Fer. Despite Susana's earlier resolve, her conscious deftness at playing this game, she's still just an ex-girlfriend. She probably thought I'd let that particular bone of contention go. What she didn't realize is that while I was with her all those years ago, I was only content at giving her some parts of me. Half of myself, the part I thought she could handle.

Anyway, she walked up to me a little while later and asked again if anything was wrong.

A 'no' would have been safer, would have given us an easier way out if worse came to worst, brought us back to how things used to be. Together, though always eluding the certain freedom of truth. A 'yes' would have been dangerous, but then again, I've always known the truth to be that. On the high wire without a safety net. Not worrying about who might see, what they might know. The price you pay for being real.

I was willing to pay it if Fer was.

So I finally discarded my thoughts of keeping secrets and bit the bullet. They didn't hold a place in this new territory, not now. I needed to say something, needed to do something, even though I knew Susana would get hurt. I knew it was coming, I knew it was going to be hard, I knew that she'd look at me with disgust or contempt or rage, and I knew I didn't want any of that, but I also knew that I'd rather take all of those things from her than to let Fer get hurt any more because of this. I'd compromised for everyone for so damn long, and Fer burned out the desire to even try anymore. I had to damn well stand somewhere. Fer got all the compromise left in me. Susana was just out of luck.

I took a deep breath, surprised to realize I was finally relaxed. Susana thought she'd picked up on the crux of the matter, but she really hadn't. Fuck Susana's instincts. Fuck my own, for that matter.

I decided to tell her the truth. "I have to tell you something. Something you've never asked."

She nudged me gently, relief and triumph evident in her voice. "You can tell me anything. You know that."

"I'm not..." I tried to grab the right word, the right phrase, because this is no ordinary confession. This is a headline-grabbing, bright-neon-lights-flashing, mother-of-all-time admission, at least as far as she was concerned. But I'm not *what*? Not normal? Not of this earth? Not human? Not like you?

I stared at her for a second, and any trepidation I had evaporated and was replaced with total determination.

I tried again. "Susana, I'm not who you think I am." There. Not too bad for a start. The world suddenly shrunk down to a tiny room with both of us in it.

"What?" God, she sounded so damn *young*.

"I'm with someone else."

Susana's expression didn't change. "A girlfriend. I know. I do. But–"

"No."

Susana blinked. "What?"

I drew in a slow breath, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "It's Fer."

I didn't have to explain who Fer was, and that's the killer.

"Fer?" She sounded lost. I watched as her mind skipped backward, and then the second of startled recognition.

Susana wasn't processing it, though. "Fer? Your flatmate?"

In all ways, that still did weird things to my head. Far back in the corner of my mind, there was that part which obsessed about hopelessly romantic things, like endless love and commitment ceremonies and cuddling and kissing and non-stop fucking and long breakfasts in bed. Things that you don't do with a typical flatmate.

I held myself. This is what I chose. This is because I have to, because I won't lie to you, and I'll never lie to anyone else again. "I'm gay, and I'm with Fer. I love him, and I don't want to stop."

I steeled myself for admonishment, for recriminations. And questions. I knew she'll have a million of them. What did you just say? Why didn't you tell me? You're kidding, right? Why did I ever trust you? That she'd whip them out like harsh accusations, damning me for lying to her. I resigned myself to the inevitable.

There was shock, though God knows, it couldn't be *that* unexpected. Susana saw the way I looked at Fer, but I guess she chose not to see anything at all. It was easier to keep the memory of a womanizing ex-boyfriend at play in the fields of the lords and all that, than to believe that you're in a proto-relationship with a guy that you hadn't seen in years and had changed in ways you've never ever fucking imagined.

I looked at her directly. _It's about to be all over, whoever the fuck I had been to you._ I didn't need to take in a last glance to know that the eyes gazing back were forever altered. But I had decided, when I agreed to move in with Fer. When I made the decision to marry him. When I sat back watching him sleep, after we had sex for the first time. When I had waltzed him past the gaping students of Zurbarán that first time, fought for him when my parents didn't understand, my hands in his, never looking back.

I refused to feel bashful or shy or embarrassed about my relationship with him anymore; we

were back together for a certain intent and it took us a hell of a long time to get there. I didn't want Susana's sympathy or understanding or whatever. I couldn't be bothered to deal with whatever angst she might be going through regarding my homosexuality and relationship status. I only wanted to do what Fer would count on me for.

Before I knew it, Susana was demanding to know how it happened. But what the fuck could I possibly say that would make her feel better about all of it? What excuse or reason could I ever give her? It had nothing to do with her. And I couldn't give her what she wanted. Won't.

I needed _Fer_. I needed to love Fer. I needed to look after Fer. I needed to fix things with Fer.

"Stay," Susana stood up and planted herself in front of me.

Christ, that word... and I so fucking knew I've made the right decision because more than anything I wished Fer was the one saying it, wished I'd heard Fer's voice and not Susana's, knew that for me to spend one second longer letting Susana think that she ever had a hope in hell of being back with me was so unfair.

"David," her voice bubbling under with controlled annoyance. "I thought we talked about getting back together."

I lifted my head and watched her, taking in the accusatory glare. "Susana, _you_ talked and I just listened in disbelief at all the shit coming out of your mouth."

I wasn't sure what else to tell her, because I ran out of words the same time she did.

A pause. Then, "I know about you," she said. "I know."

And I knew that she didn't but she wanted to see fear in my eyes. Wanted to scare me into doubting myself, into betraying myself...into admitting something that she's imagined I'd done. But I knew better. Fucking knew better. I knew that I had to find a way to be myself in the face of that reality. I didn't need an overhang of guilt or doubt or whatever it was. "Stop it, Susana. You don't know shit about me," I said, with probably more conviction than she'd ever expected from me. I looked her in the eyes and stared.

Nothing.

Total blankness.

A second went by and she kept staring.

"Stay," she said it again, louder.

"I can't," I answered, steadfast.

She grabbed my arm and I had to look at her. "David, I'm asking you to stay."

"No, Susana, I have to go."

"If you leave... right now, I don't want you to ever come back," she said and she dropped my arm.

I nodded. "I know," I whispered and put my jacket on "I know, Susana." Christ, this was all I can say.

"Fuck you, David," she paused for a second, then looked at me... "Fuck you," her voice screeching out of her throat.

"I..." I wanted to say I was sorry, but how the fuck to say it? Sorry I'm queer? Sorry you fucking hate my guts? Sorry you want to fire me? Fuck that.

I headed for the door and she pushed me away, hard, her hands on my chest. "Just go if you're leaving! Get the fuck out of here!"

It was a fucking episode, really. Like something that should be on daytime television. Shit like this is what bored housewives live to see.

So...Susana kicked my ass out and fired me and I was fucking pissed and relieved and so goddamn happy all at the same time.

It was over...

Over.

I just lost my job, and I didn't even give a fuck. Instead, I felt powerful again. I felt like myself again. I felt like I'd never hide, never lie, again.

And, you know, I realized that this wasn't just about me and Susana. This wasn't about money or getting ahead or moving away or... anything like that.

And it wasn't just about trying to do the right thing, either. About being honest and upfront about my gayness and my relationship with Fer, it wasn't about forgetting the past or trying to prove something to myself...wasn't about drawing a line in the sand... about putting up boundaries or holding up fidelity.

For me, it was about that feeling I had...that day... that sometimes seemed like a thousand years ago, but then sometimes felt like yesterday.

That feeling of...

Loss...

Frustration...

Panic...

Rage...

Fear...

All those emotions rolled up into one giant ball that bowled me over and left me standing on that ledge...crying so hard...thinking about Fer marrying someone else and leaving me forever. I never thought I'd stop crying. I've never cried that hard for anything or anyone else in my entire fucking life, feeling my body wracking with each sob, my skin on fire, my eyes burning, my hands balled into fists, and the sound of my heart breaking connecting with my skull... ringing over and over and over in my head.

This was about that feeling.

That feeling of guilt that washed over me, suddenly, without expectation, without warrant.

That feeling of... I shouldn't have let things gone on for as long as they did. I shouldn't have let Susana believe for one fucking second that she had a chance, that it would ever be just like it was, or that it was okay for her to do whatever the fuck she wanted.

I mean, I was smart enough to know that most of the appeal of Susana was that she wasn't Fer, but I also knew that I couldn't have done what she needed me to. Couldn't have ever committed to her, with her expectations, her promises, her words, because I could never have met those expectations... held by those promises... returned her words.

Because no matter what Susana thought, or wanted to think, she'd lost all control over determining how I was going to feel about her. I couldn't be who I was when I was still with her. Because this is the man I am now.

The men that Fer and I were. The men that we were born to be. The men we will always be.

This was about that feeling.

So maybe this was about Fer.

And definitely about me.

And maybe it was about everybody I knew, and everybody like me and like Fer.

* * *

I refused to back away, refused to leave things hanging and unresolved. The voices of my past cut in, reminding me that there were no grounds, moral or otherwise, for stubbornness here. That's for the young, the immature. And I didn't want to be that. Not anymore.

So I went home. Because first... first and always...Fer. I needed to feel Fer's lips, this time with consciousness and clarity. Needed to take those arms and wrap them around me, not as a shield but as a blanket. Needed to grab that missing piece of my soul, one I didn't know was missing until I found myself craving for it. I wanted to gather him in, lock him up tight until I became whole again. Until we *both* became whole again.

I knew that something needed to be done. Fer needed to know that I understood that this was about trust and respect and knowing what to say and do and what not to. About knowing when to push and when to pull back. About knowing what he felt, about listening to him and knowing when to let go.

He had to know that I finally understood that loving him as much as I did, in and of itself, couldn't be all that there was in trying to maintain our relationship. That sometimes it requires effort and vigilance.

I told him to look at me, like I had so many times. I didn't know what to expect, just knew I was nervous and embarrassed and excited and wanted Fer so much, more than anything I ever wanted. It's not just about the talk and the kissing, but it's about proving who I was and who I'd become and when I looked into his eyes, I knew this man will always be a part of who I am, of my future.

I got him, held him there, and let him see how much I loved him, how much I didn't want him hurt. I let him see the real me...his David, and I sat there only focusing on him and tried not to think about how he sat and held me six thousand times before that, steadied me, stopped me from fucking killing myself over and over and over, even during those times when I felt like I was dying inside at the very thought that I could lose him to someone else...and that it would be All. My. Fault.

But I didn't want to think about that anymore. Just thought about Fer.

Reminded myself that Fer was okay.

Not like he was sick.

Not like he was going anywhere.

Not like…

Fuck, I didn't know how I got from standing on a street corner picking up a cheap ring to sitting inches away from him in our funky, warm home, but there I was. And talking to him was so fucking easy, and I didn't even want to talk about Susana, didn't want to open my mouth to say one more goddamned word about her, although I knew I had to.

I gawked at those lips, anticipating the kind of freedom they held, knowing the kind of truth they could pull out of me. I spoke with sincerity and the confidence of one who knew that he had done what needed to be done, and to hell with the consequences. "I told Susana the truth. So she fired me."

Suddenly, I found it almost funny that I ended up sitting next to Fer, reiterating all the things I've said to him before. About how much I loved him. And despite everything, I couldn't help the little smile that came to my face because I was so fucking proud of myself. Fer was just holding back from breakdown crying...but I knew he liked hearing what I said, loved seeing the ring, and I got to the place I needed to get to for him, and I somehow knew that Fer got to the place he needed to get to for me, too, and we took control and it was all okay again.

Our eyes met a second later and I just felt so good. You know, Fer can make you feel...so fucking important...when he turns that gaze on you...those eyes glinting, the way his face just seems so different when he's caught in a smile as he looks at you. And fuck... I've missed him so much. I felt all shaky and high because he smelled so fucking good and I just wanted him so badly.

So I kissed him, embraced him and reminded him that being with him didn't faze me, didn't make me regret a fucking thing, one action, one thought. Being with Fer just made me happy, made me feel...victorious.

We separated and just stared at each other, our eyes clinging together, and it suddenly seemed so fucking perfect, so right, the unexpected happiness that came out of this. I watched his face change from the ecstatic joy to...

Understanding. Awareness. Acknowledgement. Acceptance. He just kept looking at me and I kept looking at him and we were the only fucking people in the universe.

And that second felt like it was stretched beyond time, beyond existence, beyond everything and nothing and seemed like forever and like we were on some other plane of reality that only existed for us.

It was enough time to feel desperate to remember exactly what that spark felt like when ignited, and why I could probably go off and fuck every person on Earth and still come home every night to Fer.

I suddenly felt energized, all raw nerve endings. Twinges of pain, pangs of guilt, washed away by a tidal wave of release. For several moments, I became the freedom I sought, boundless and unfettered. In that state of reality, I wondered what was so important about keeping things hidden.

There were no more words to say out loud, so we didn't. I just squeezed Fer in my arms so tight and he squeezed me back, but we couldn't get enough...never enough…until we let go, and I pulled him with me up to the bedroom.

I knew what he'd taste like, knew how he'd feel, knew how his fingers would wrap around me, knew how he'd kiss me, knew how he'd sigh so loudly...knew _everything everything everything_…anticipated it, wanted it, needed it.

It felt so good, so familiar, and that's all I wanted, that familiarity, that...knowing. The understanding, the anticipation, of remembering exactly how it's supposed to be. Knowing that it'll be the same, but different. Knowing that he'll love it, knowing that I'll love it...

Knowing everything...

How to please, how to make him suck in his breath, how to make him moan, when to stop, when to push harder, _when when when_. So amazing, but at the same time, I didn't like missing it, didn't like yearning for something that's there.

I wasn't jealous or paranoid. During all that time when I felt like he was neglecting me, I knew there was no one else. But it freaked me out in a sense...how I laid everything bare for Fer, tried to give him everything I could, but what if it was never enough, and then he'd just forget about me in the end. How life would be different... for me, for Fer. Or maybe nothing would be different. Maybe we'd just stay like this forever, like I wanted it.

Or maybe we'd break up beyond repair and I'd never have seen him again... and never ever feel this way again.

"I had started to think you didn't want me anymore." Fer's confession hurt us both with its honesty.

"Right back atcha," I said tightly, but despite the fear I found myself moving in his direction, and the need in my hands when I reached out to clutch the back of his head arched like lightning to a treetop, burning us both with its immediacy and potency.

I turned to face him as he opened his eyes and looked at me quizzically. I wriggled up so we were at eye-level, then run my fingers down his cheeks. "I need you," I said pensively, trying to figure out how to say just enough. "You don't ever have to give me things, or remember my birthday, or any of that." I stared into the darkening eyes and spoke the words in a single exhale. "I just need you to keep loving me."

I put my hands on either side of his face as his fingers found my waist, and his touch was strong and confident and holy fuck, it felt good to have that talk. It felt fucking *good* to let those words pass by, and it felt good to know Fer had heard them. It felt good to let him know that what I said was true, that everything that happened between us will always be real, and I'll never, ever take that away from him.

That's why I'll always muse over how things could be a little Different, because even when I'd been an asshole to end all assholes and Fer queened out and yelled and slammed doors and we bitched and fought and hated each other before we made up, we will always end up together anyway.

* * *

And now we get to Román.

I'm kinda trying to be generous recapping about it, because honestly, if you'd ask me, there was no real issue to begin with. There was no "me and Román" to talk about, and it had no impact on my life until I realized later on that Fer was starting to turn into an enormous pain in the ass about it.

This is the truth: Fer was insecure about Fer. He was such a nervous nellie about things, but I tried to be a little extra understanding whenever he freaked out because…well, given our history, I guess he needed a little extra understanding about it. I knew there was a lot I could say in my own defense, but none of it was really worth the effort. I mean, when it came down to it, my basic response to the whole thing was "whatever." Yeah, Román was hot, but I wasn't going to jeopardize what Fer and I had, and I sure as hell wasn't going to embarrass Román by coming on to him. So it all boiled down to Fer being petty and silly and feeling jealous as usual, but I wasn't trying to get into Román's pants anyway, so, you know, whatever.

All that aside, there was this one night when it came as no surprise that Fer would heighten his dilemma to Shakespearean proportions. I wondered if he knew that he already had power over me, so spying on me to prove the point was sort of redundant. Anyway, after everything got cleared up thanks to Teresa's presence, an instant passed between us where I knew Fer was allowing me the freedom of pretending not to care, though both of us knew that it was far from over. I was grateful and pissed off at the same time, because I knew that if I was having a fight with Fer, winning wasn't really an option. But Fer looked so mutinous that I couldn't even muster the energy or even find the wisdom in talking to him about it, and besides, it felt like too much trouble to be going through at one-thirty in the fucking morning.

Anyway, I've learned a long time ago that Fer could dish it out, but sometimes found it very hard to take. Sometimes he heard things in people's words they never meant, imagined scenarios that weren't true, picked up the wrong words and dwelt on them. If Fer had time to think about what to do in any given situation, I never knew what the hell he'd end up doing. He thought too much and put too much into what someone else might be thinking and then he'd go around and around trying to make sure no one fucks him over and then he'd end up making such ridiculous decisions you can't even believe it.

He was so afraid of us crashing and burning, so afraid of the pain I could inflict on him that he'd bring everything we had crashing down around us, bring all that pain on us both, just to try to keep it in his control.

That's the fucking moron I was in love with.

Anyway, with Fer, you have to be able to tell when he's acting out of fear and desperation and when he's just being a dick. I may not be able to explain why I can accept some of his shit and not others, I just know when I can let it go and when I can't. That's not to say he got a bye when he fucked up because he was afraid. I really wasn't that much of a doormat. I still called him on it, which I did the next day, but I did it with no grudge or malice.

I guess that sounds like I'm making excuses, and maybe I am. Maybe I still let him fuck with me more than I should. But for me, it's a question of intention with Fer. If he's trying to hurt us just because he feels like being a shit, there's not much to understand there. If he's hurting us because he just doesn't fucking know what else to do, then there's something for us to talk about.

I have a thought about that, which I'll get to later.

* * *

My vague feelings of guilt over Susana's reappearance grew into something I couldn't quite ignore when I started dreaming about girls. It felt like it was some sort of deep philosophical Freudian shit wherein standard logic didn't allow me to interpret all the factors correctly.

That's when shit really hit the fan, because Fer and I were completely stupid about it.

By the way, there should be a fucking rule about prefacing dreams with a full and honest disclaimer.

Something like this: Dreams are a space totally within the consciousness of the person without rules or limitations on the flexibility of meaning, emotion, or action. They take place in the unconscious mind, so in other words, the person has no control over what they dream, and what they dream has no control over their conscious mind, other than (occasionally) remembering that it happened.

I'm pretty sure I read that online. I'm just saying.

So it's been weeks of Fer and I living together, like we wanted. And then some nights of wet dreams involving girls, and I couldn't figure out the best course of action to make things right.

Maybe it's because there was nothing wrong.

But it was haunting me and I could neither express, describe nor overcome it on my own. I didn't want to talk about it, couldn't even begin to explain, didn't even want to try.

It's not that I was scared of being bisexual, that's just stupid. All those dreams weren't about Fer anyway...fuck, they weren't even about _me_. But I felt so bad about what I was thinking - or

not thinking. And I didn't know how to communicate to him what a load of bullshit it all was.

Anyway, does it ever happen to you that you believe you have something important to say, and then you have a flash of insight, and you know it makes no difference whatsoever, so you just decide to shut the fuck up about it?

That was my whole attitude about the whole thing.

Okay, I admit it was heady and strange. Some nights I felt lost in it, the fantasy and reality all mixing together and it was fucked up and just plain crazy. I thought that maybe, maybe if I opened my eyes I'd see that it was Fer, Fer's hands on my ass and Fer's mouth sucking me. I couldn't do it, though, because one insane hallucination was quite enough for the night, thank you very much, and I wasn't going to let myself keep going on like that.

But I'd been a zip code or two away from normal for so long that I wasn't even sure I could evaluate the moments objectively. I really didn't care, anyway. Clearly, I was meant to ask the obvious questions, but I couldn't muster any curiosity. I mean, the feelings and insistence to think about it were there, but I'd been able to fill my head with other things, push it aside, not dwell on it.

Because I knew I was with Fer. I fucking lived for him. And I think bisexuality don't or won't or can't or shouldn't change that. Whatever the fuck. The dreams didn't mean anything and they didn't make any difference about anything. Sigmund Freud could go fuck himself.

Eventually though, when things mellowed down enough, I did pry open the lid on my psyche and asked myself, what if there is a tiny part of me that's still attracted to women that has been ignored since I adopted the "gay" moniker?

And these are all the facts I came up with:

- I was attracted to guys 95% of the time, and when I saw a girl I considered to be attractive, it was more in the aesthetic sense of "she looks nice", not "I want to have sex with her."

- When I was drunk, I never seemed to be interested in girls, and I frequently hit on other guys. Take from that what you will.

- How fucked up was it that I could dream about girls...have them suck me down and drink me up...then wake up while coming blindingly hard and STILL think "I love Fernando Redondo"?

How fucked up. And how true. And how *right*. Because dreams are dreams and dreams are unreal and frigid and full of shit.

- Some people suggested that I might be a bisexual homoromantic. Whatever the fuck that means anyway.

- I think the question is flawed from its conception. No, I don't think I sat down one day and said, "I hereby choose to like men more than women, but find women also reasonably attractive." But I also don't think I popped out of the womb like that either. I think it's a lot less simple than pop-science question makes it out to be.

- I've been with girls. I've been with boys. I've fucked around. I've been monogamous. I've tried everything and anything. Yes, I was still young, but I also knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be with Fer.

- The lack of a male body and male faces, male voice and interests, hobbies, humor, strength, are simply too hard for me to contemplate. It's not that girls can't be hilarious or funny or amusing or have cool interests or hobbies, I just don't think I can connect to them as much as I can with guys with the same stuff going for them.

- Even though I already identified as gay, I noticed that I had to think about my ex-girlfriend, or even go as far as dreaming about women JUST TO LEARN that I had no real desire to be with women anymore.

But all that's going all the way to the future. Let's go back to the time when Fer and I got high together because he deemed it necessary to get me to admit to something I didn't want to talk about at all.

See, I had this constant problem of shit coming out of my mouth without my knowledge or consent, and it took me longer than it should have to remember that in addition to never shutting up, Fer was the most calculating person I've ever known, and that I was without question being set up for something. It took only a couple of tokes before I confessed about my dreams, and it was easier than I thought. Though I guess in the back of my mind, I was hoping for absolution for keeping quiet about the whole thing to begin with.

Anyway, there were advantages to getting high when you actually knew what mattered. I was hoping it would be enough to calm Fer down. Or at least to have him think that the only thing I had the jitters over was the general shit about the stupid fucking dreams. Thanks a whole fucking lot, Santa.

Because the next thing I know, Fer and I were fighting over shit I thought we'd already worked out before we went to sleep, like whether or not I was bisexual, which Fer suddenly seemed to think was the worst thing that could happen in the whole history of the goddamned universe.

It wasn't really that Fer understood what my dreams were really about, but the panic was eating away at him, and as much as I tried to tell him over and over that it wasn't about him at all, that it wasn't his fault...it was like the more I said it, the less he believed me. So he started going on and on about shit that maybe I really knew, but couldn't understand. Told me that I probably wasn't the same person he knew anymore. That I'd stop loving him.

I couldn't even get my head around that. Couldn't even process that.

I mean, I was a grown man and it was up to me to decide how I wanted to live my life, right? For reasons that apparently Fer couldn't fully understand, I was with him because I was honest to God fucking crazy about him. As long as that's fine with him, why should my dreams have mattered at all?

And I hated the way he was trying to make it all rational, get it all sorted out. He was clearly going to some pseudo-philosophical jargon that really didn't make any sense and it's just plain bullshit. He was trying to make his arguments of bisexuality being incidental out of a mismash of philosophical ideas that sounded exactly like it was thought of while stoned.

I wished Fer didn't always have to fuck himself up to figure out what he wanted to do about shit, but he did. So I tried to be gentle. I mean, he was legitimately upset, I had a point and I was trying to soften him up so that he'd hear it. Of course, at some point I could tell that Fer wasn't really listening.

The inevitable walk to school after that. Silence between me and Fer. Familiar...in the sense that I've never been able to break it, and unfamiliar...in the sense that he had stopped pushing, stopped asking.

Over lunch, Fer was absent, not there, there was nothing behind his eyes. He talked to me, talked to everyone, wiped his mouth in an oddly graceless way, but he wasn't _there_, not really. If I peeled back the sarcasm and the wit, there'd just be a blank space where Fer should have been. I didn't know where he was, the real Fer, but I was pretty fucking certain he was too far away for me to reach. I told myself he was. I told myself not to even try.

* * *

I tore my eyes away and the kaleidoscope spinned and shifted like always, but this time I got the sense that it was falling off its axis.

Life goes on, so they say.

And then it stops.

As I woke up all alone in bed, wondering why I was there and Fer was not, I somehow had the gut feeling that everything has shifted.

Fer looked up when I walked down the steps and at the look on his face and his stuff all packed up I found myself searching around inside for the fragments of my fucking defenses so I could get them into place before he opened his mouth.

Somehow, I knew, before he said a word. I knew because it's fate and it's destiny or it was just my horrible, horrible luck.

Two words in, I was almost *shaking*, and I couldn't even explain why. It's not just seeing this, this – this proof that Fer's not anything like what everyone thought, not anything like the image that I'd been using in my head to justify everything he's done. The fucker will do shit like this, just when you think everything's working out.

No. There was a sound, a bell, it rung heavy and clear in my head. No. No Fer, not again, not after everything, _no_.

It wasn't funny anymore. I knew that half the time Fer started drama because he secretly enjoyed it, because he could... but sometimes he let it get out of hand. There's a place in Fer's head that I'd always been afraid of.

For a moment, it's almost as if I couldn't hear him, as if he was talking some other language and the words just didn't make any fucking sense. There's a sort of rush of white noise through my head, and the edges of everything around me became kind of blurry. I couldn't tell if it was of shock or the sudden anger, like a jumble of curse words I didn't have the focus to thread together. I didn't understand why I wasn't talking, wasn't yelling, wasn't doing anything but standing with my hands hanging limply at my sides and my eyes just stuck on the floor.

There was a sickly-sweet, nauseating second of wondering what would have happened the day I crashed his wedding with Borja if I'd seen this moment.

And that made me remember. When Fer was with Borja, what was I doing in those weeks? I wasn't just watching him all over the city, although that's sort of how it plays back in my mind. It was just dead time, sleeping and walking and drinking, and it was flat and easy and cheap. Things were sharper with Fer there. More difficult. Brighter. I tried to picture those times in my head, and something flared up inside my chest, hot and sudden, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking him to stay.

When history repeats itself, the details are irrelevant.

In the beginning, it was easy enough. All I had to do was look at him and I was there, ready and willing to do anything he wanted. There was nothing I wouldn't try for him, and even in the face of tears and wounded looks, we ended up making up when everything was said and done.

There was always a part of me that felt defeated each time we fought and he won, but despite the fact that I let him win every step of the way, somehow I ended up here - here where I finally gave him all I had and he still turned and left me alone.

The violent jerk as the parachute filled hurt enough, but when my feet slammed into the ground, followed quickly by my knees, chest and face, the damage to my body and dignity were sufficient. It gave me a frame of reference. I stood up on shaking legs, detached myself from all the strings and cords and buckles and straps and walked away.

But after everything, I had to ask, how could he do this to me?

Why was he making me feel like I was really actually fucking up?

I guess up until that point I'd been holding onto some hope that it wasn't true, some belief that he wouldn't do that to me again.

Because he promised. We fucking sat each other down on the goddamned couch and he told me he wouldn't do this to me again.

The pain receded and crashed back, like some huge wave, but in the space between, some other feelings built up in me like a corrosive. I was sore and confused and angry. And fucking scared. Because I figured that meant it was over. Because if Fer wouldn't fucking believe in my love for him, then there was nowhere for us to go. There's just no fucking point.

I swallowed back everything I wanted to say and looked at his expectant face. He wasn't waiting for declarations of everlasting love now… he was just waiting for confirmation that he was doing the right thing. That leaving me was the right thing for him to do.

And it probably was the right thing for him to do, if that's what would make him happy.

Not the right thing for me, though.

I had no clear thoughts in my head when Fer walked out, just a buzz, a single note of panic playing between my ears. Once he was gone, I let out a slow breath, hissing between my teeth, and I studied the apartment with its new Fer-shaped empty spaces. I did that, apparently; made him leave, and it was like moving chess pieces anywhere I liked. Only I wasn't controlling the pieces, they were controlling me.

I felt my lower lip quiver, my eyes fill with tears. Then it happened. The ice began to flow. My protective device kicked in and began filling my veins with cold, soothing ice water. My emotions went flat, as if I had flipped off an energy source and replaced it with numb neutrality. I could not allow myself to lose control. I had to feel nothing at all, that was the only way I could cope. No pain, no panic. Ice.

Something happened.

Something was over.

Maybe everything was over.

And all I could do was try to remember how to breathe.

For a little while, I mistook the numbness for salvation.

I got cans of beer and sat on the couch and rolled a joint. I drank too much and smoked too much until the numbness spread from my heart and soul to my head and fingers, too. Until I truly couldn't feel anything anymore and I just laid there, heavy and sick and heartbroken.

I was caught between wanting to cling to Fer so fucking hard and wanting to slap him hard and say, _look what you've done. Just look what you've done._ As I laid in the dark determined not to come unglued, fighting off the tears and the fear and the guilt and the anger that were trying to make me fly into a million pieces, I thought, I tried to think, that I was finally free. But the thought was wrong in my head, dissonant, jarring.

Fer was full of shit. I knew exactly what I wanted. And I'd know it every night when I slept, and every morning when I woke up. Fer fucking dragged me here; fucking made me, all the fucking time he was making me, and I was chewing off my head to give him everything he wanted, and he just kept making me and making me and then he comes up with this fucking shit?

It's kind of like…like I got together with Fer because I was the opposite of who my mother thought I was. And then, I escaped my mom, only to become the man she always told me I was and because of that I lost Fer. Because, see, in Fer's mind, the only kind of man who would want to be with him was the kind of man my mother thought I wasn't. And in Fer's view, I sort of became the man my mother thought I was. That probably doesn't make any sense to anyone but me.

It didn't matter anyway. Apparently, I didn't give him a lot of reasons to want to stay. At least, I thought maybe I had, but it was obvious even then that they weren't the right reasons. They weren't the reasons he was looking for. When it came down to it, it turned out that what I could give, and what he needed probably weren't the same.

He left because of me… because of who I was, who he thought I'd *become*. I heard it, and it fucking hurt.

I felt stupid and ignorant and naïve and that's so wrong, because I was not any of those things. Yet there I was standing in the middle of our apartment wondering what the fuck just happened because Fer walked out after I told him that I might be bisexual.

I thought that maybe "no matter what" didn't include this. I never figured it would end like this.

What the fuck was going on in his head? Did he really trust me so little? Respected me even less? After everything we've been through, did he really expect that it would be okay to put us through the same shit all over again? Like it was all fucking nothing?

It made me sick to think that he still didn't realize how much he could hurt me, and how much I fucking loved him. I needed Fer the way I knew he needed me, no matter *what* he fucking thought.

And what hurt me so fucking much…was that he didn't mean it. I knew he didn't. He loved me. I fucking knew he did. And I knew he didn't want to hurt me, and I even thought that maybe he didn't know how much he was hurting me. I think I knew that he had reasons...he had...things, that maybe I couldn't really understand… but…

But why...did it have to hurt so much?

My shoulders shook a little and I tried to suck back a sob. I didn't want to think about how much pain I was in, thinking about him, thinking about me...

Thinking about what we started, and how it ended.

Fer started my life. He's where I hurt, I loved, I cried. Where I learned fucking everything. Learned who I was and who I could be.

Fer was my home. My *everything*.

And then he was gone.

The world had become... black and white.

Because you're either one thing... or you're the other.

Good or bad.

Right or wrong.

Gay or straight. Or fucking bisexual.

You're one or the other. And that's what defines you as a person.

Of course, that's just fucked up.

But life was fucked up. The goddamn world was fucked up.

It was wrong. So fucking wrong in that completely stupid, infuriating way that things could be so, so, so wrong.

I laid there mutely. Helplessly. Infuriatingly immobile. Nothing I could do. Too late. Just had to watch the little tale play out to its inevitable conclusion, then deal with the consequences.

* * *

There used to be times when I'd wake up before dawn, hot and hard and needing to fuck Fer. Needing to suck him. Needing to be close. It was like he was winding me up, giving me such fantastically erotic dreams that would spin into these incredible waking plays. I'd wake him up by pulling him into me, get high on the smell of me all over him, suck him till my mouth was full and warm. I'd fuck him silently, watching as the sun rose, playing stripes of light and moving across the room until setting on us, illuminating our joined bodies as we rode and crested, rode and crested.

It was always good. Every single time. He knew me, knew what I wanted, needed. He'd know how to send me to oblivion in seconds, let me lose control and give everything up to him completely.

And he'd know when to be gentle; long, sweet sessions that lasted for hours that felt like days riding that edge of ecstasy. Known when to back off, when to push further, filling my body and soul completely, kissing till my lips were raw, the warmth of his tongue in my mouth lapping at me, caressing me, touching me forever. He knew how to make me come so hard I'd think my heart stopped. And then we'd start again with kisses all over each other's body and another slow, deep fuck.

And in the bright, warm light of day, when I was being rational and reasonable and realistic, that seemed so very important to remember. Because if I didn't believe he was ever coming back, how was I supposed to admit how much I needed him to?

But in the suffocating, cold darkness of night, when I was lonely and wanting and overwhelmed with my life...it's so easy to want to forget. To remind myself that he was gone, that it was over.

* * *

Fer approached me in the art classroom days later. He wanted to come back, but because I made a resolve to be strong enough, to not fall for this same shit, I felt betrayed by him for trying to fuck with me, betrayed by him... for not letting me go. I wanted to tell him to leave me alone, to either want me or to stay out of my life, because I couldn't have it like this. I couldn't live my life like this, caught in a fucking limbo, between loving someone and fearing it can never last, between trying not to love someone and knowing I always will...

I didn't want to see his expression – I was almost afraid of it, and I tried to look away, trying to act like I didn't care, like it didn't matter, when really, it was very quickly becoming all that mattered. All that I cared about.

And then he kissed me and pulled me into him and I opened my eyes and saw him, his face right in mine… and…

I knew I was fucked.

Jeans chafed against waist and inner thighs, and I wanted them off, but I wanted to be still even more. Like somehow every piece of clothing removed brought me closer to something I couldn't deal with.

I didn't want to feel so lost, so fucking turned on, so needy. I didn't want to feel how good it was, how much I wanted it, how my hands pulled him closer to me, how I kissed his neck and pressed him against my body. Didn't want my cock to be so hard, my breath to be so shallow, my face to be so flushed.

I didn't want any of it, but it was happening and to be honest, I wouldn't fucking give it up for anything right that second. It was just sex, except sex was pretty much the universe, here and now, and there's a really good reason we needed to stop. But we didn't. I had no doubt that I was still his, his in every way that counted.

We left decorum and common sense behind and gave into lust and desire and whatever it was, the thing that had a hold of us that we couldn't seem to let go. Our kisses deepened, mouths barely leaving one another's, as I grabbed handfuls of his hair between my fingers to hold him to me, to keep him against my face and mouth, pushing against my skin, breathing his breath, devouring him, twisting legs together to press cocks against bodies, to rut and hump and surrender to the desperation.

Sex was messy and not like on TV. There was fumbling and grunts and awkward positions, there was lube and sticky pre-cum and spit, that way they make your fingers feel after you touch them. There was me trying to find his hole and pushing down and getting ready and feeling that pinch when I first tried to push inside and biting on his lips when it hurt and scrunching up my face and trying not to come too fast when it felt so fucking good. There's holding on and letting go and finding rhythm and losing it and finding it again, there were cocks slipping out of holes and being roughly pushed back in, there's elbows in the face and knees in the groin and slippery balls and the smell of sex and all of that. There were hot sweaty palms pressed against skin, all over, touching me everywhere and I felt him everywhere too, fell back into our story and remembered how it plays out, every single time.

Christ, I wanted him, wanted this, wanted it to never stop or end or break. I didn't hold back, I gave him everything, and God, it was so good, and I loved doing it, loved it, loved everything, _l_oved_ him_.

I said his name over and over and over like a mantra, and he kissed me like he needed me to breathe. Lips searing across my skin again and again till my neck and face were raw. My skin burned and I swore loudly when I came, as it was too much and over too soon.

Fer was silent save for a gasp. A final hard push and he scrunched his face up tight, fingers clambering in my hair and pulling tight. His eyes closed and he kissed me again, pressing his face to mine as he came, breath after breath whooshing past my ear and making the side of my face hot.

It's not like on TV, but then we weren't on TV. It wasn't orchestrated or set up or walked through or talked about. And I didn't know if the process, the whole drama, made it all taste better. Or if it made no difference...and it's all drama and bullshit anyway.

We had another chance then, to redeem ourselves, to give each other more than we expected, but instead we pushed and pulled and fucked against the coldness of the chairs and tables, fucked hard in hope and agony and despair. I'd fucked Fer with the extent of my unhappiness and regret and anger because he'd left me. He'd left me.

It wasn't the first time he'd left me. So I pushed all thoughts away, because this was the last time and I wanted to savor it, remember the taste of it, and him. It had to be the last time, because we were killing each other secretly, leaving our relationship in limbo between dying and hoping to get the chance to live, and he knew it, too. If there's one thing I'll never forget, it's the look he gave me before he walked out of the restroom during his bachelor's party all those months ago, the look that said he wasn't doing what he wanted to be doing, the look that blamed me. The one that said if I was any kind of man I would fight, I would show some fucking backbone. But I wasn't a man then, just a broken shell that depended upon him to fill me up and I knew he deserved better, so I gave up. I Gave Up and almost killed myself.

"I love you," he said. I came back to the present, letting my gaze wash over him, and his face looked like flying. I knew at that moment that I had never had any intention of letting him go. I knew at that moment I would have to, that I couldn't stand to suffer another heartbreak when he left again.

I backed away slowly, holding his hand until the last possible minute, and I knew he was afraid of what would happen if we broke our connection, if he just turned his head a second and came back to find a different man standing in front of him. I felt like a different person anyway, a bigger person, an older person: an adult. I felt that word like self-sacrifice, knifing through my veins, making the truth as painful as possible.

I looked at him, and his face was radiant, open with joy and hope. I memorized it, tucked it inside me for later, when I would be me and Fer would be Fer, but we wouldn't be together. We couldn't be together, not when we kept pinning each other to the ground.

"I love you," I said to him, but only in my head this time.

I had to let him go.

He looked back at me, his eyes searching my face. I'm sure he knew it was coming. He knew…

It had to happen.

So I let go.

Didn't wanna hurt Fer, but either it was hurt him, or hurt me…and he was a hell of a lot stronger than me, so…

I told him that we couldn't get back together.

I told him I was moving away.

I pulled it in from everywhere I could, all the anger and pain that I had from this, from this fucking bullshit, from this insane loneliness that Fer had forced on us both, from the despair I could hear in my head, from the pain in my gut and everything, everywhere.

I resisted everything else I felt, tried not to look helpless and hopeless. I played glib and smart-ass and pretended that I didn't care, didn't care about anything anymore.

A second passed, and it was just us, with things we wanted to say but didn't couldn't wouldn't. Both of us guilty of the same sin, both of us guilty of not listening, not hearing, not acknowledging what's expected.

He told me I was an asshole. Then he told me to go to hell.

It had to be over.

Deep inside, I knew it wouldn't be the end. On some level I knew there would have to be an explosion to separate us for real, something big and nasty enough to make the rubber band holding us together stretch. I didn't think it would break. I didn't think it was possible to break this thing between us, but it could stretch across a country and that's what it had to do.

Because after everything, I still did believe in love.

I believed in it enough to try and set Fer free.

To set us both free.

Any way I could.

So I cut myself free, release myself, release Fer...from something that I let him convince me was never going to work.

The kaleidoscope of my life had shifted and went back to where it started. A little broken and destroyed, but back to where it was before Fer ever came along.

Even though he changed me, and I was left with who I was, left with...what he made me.

And the world followed, shifting and tumbling again, and I was on my own like before, and before, and before.

And after.

Forever.


	7. Pulse: Fer's POV

**FER'S POV**

Some part of me expected that when David and I finally got back together, something huge was supposed to happen, that everything would be different, that I would be different and that he would be different... and it would all be so easy and we'd just be together and that would be all there was to it.

So I don't know what was worse, the fear before we got back together that there would be a permanent gulf between us, or the fear that descended after we got back together. The fear that came because it wasn't different. It was close and warm and whole and healing. It was being able to breathe again, able to see, and hear, and feel. It was being alive again.

I knew our time was up, the rollercoaster of hope and despair was over. That in spite of all the struggles I'd gone through-alternately needing David and trying to drive him away-it was time to face what we'd known all along would be our fate.

In that state, it was understood by us both that, whatever our problems, whatever our problems with each other's problems, we had created something warm, something real. As cliched as it may have been, it still couldn't be appropriated by love songs that had been worn ragged and meaningless by hundreds of regurgitations. It couldn't be taken by other people to neaten the relationship up, swallowed whole and spit out again as something that was used and cheap, that could be talked about with knowing disdain by others. To us, at least, it was different than anything that had gone before and to make it the same was unthinkable. Love, the real kind, was whatever we made it, whatever formed as we fucked and fought and helped each other and told each other the truth even when it hurt. It was making sure the other got what he needed.

It was enough. It's all enough.

We chose. We chose each other. We chose to be together.

Helping, holding, fucking, loving, giving each other everything we could.

We'd love each other, and define the word in real ways that actually applied to our life, not just spouting rhetorical nonsense. We'd share our lives together, grow old together, live together in every sense of the word. We'd be together and we'd be happy and that would be life was about. Full of underlying contentment instead of underlying fear.

It was a lot to ask for, but it was also a lot to look forward to...

See, experience isn't the only lesson out there, right? And maybe experience isn't about shutting down or protecting yourself. There's more to life, there was more to me, more to David. More to us, fuck the world, fuck what it did. We were different. We're together.

It was a time when we could hold each other without leaving marks from desperate urgency and kiss like it wasn't the last time because we knew it's not. I still wondered sometimes if maybe I should have fought him harder, but then whenever he whispered _I love you _in my ear I knew I could give up everything if only he would look at me like that forever.

In moments like that I had a hard time remembering why I fought him so hard to begin with.

Of course, our love didn't necessarily reflect where we were, or where we were headed. Our superstition about being born to be together; the belief in the concept of chance or fate was so forceful that the superstition had actually jumped out at us as if it was located somewhere besides in our own head. But bringing it into words, into the air outside of our hearts, into the real world where we both wanted to bring it, that was a different matter. I didn't want to jinx the future I saw through the haze, beginning to form into a future I would never have believed could exist, even a year ago. Now I did, and I was unsure how solid that hazy future really was.

So even when things were going along well for a while, I decided to let it work itself out.

Yeah, right.

David and I started thinking about how we were really going to be together, what being "together" actually meant for us, and soon enough I found myself proposing to move in with him. I wanted to live with him, and not even the universe aligning itself in kamikaze formation could convince me that we were not fucking ready.

I was convinced that we were both ready. We were both hungry. For everything. And we were more than willing to give up what we had if it meant something better and stronger and more fascinating.

And also because great big hurts got smaller, maybe it got a little clearer what happened between us and why. And at the time, everything just felt so...right. And the more time passed, the easier it was for me to affirm that it was worth it to be with him.

There might just be a great chance for us. Maybe everything will be good, everything will be okay, and I wouldn't give a shit about anything else and I wouldn't...try to hurt David ever again. I'll just love him...and love him...and love him.

David. Always David. Whether that was good or bad made no difference. It was simple fact.

David supplied all those feelings for me.

That feeling that I've always wanted to have fulfilled.

That feeling that he gave me.

That feeling that I've finally let myself have.

A feeling that I cling to now.

Maybe I could define myself by those feelings.

It could be that simple. Not that our situation was simple, because it only got more complicated with every move either of us made, but maybe it could have been easy being with him, though I guess 'easy' is a relative term when you're speaking from hindsight.

I imagined myself on one side, where I might be sick, or hurt, or I might just be an asshole who didn't know what to do when things seemed too good to be true. But none of those things could dent what David had, his faith in us, his everything, his love.

Then, there was the other side. With the polished hardwood floors and immaculate furniture that just couldn't hide the glorious mess David had made of himself, the world had made of him.

Then we could shut the world out, once we were inside and could at least touch each other, even if we were sick or hurt or assholes. If we could reach out and touch we could fix things, or not, or what the fuck needed to be fixed if we were already together?

And so came the day we moved in, when everything felt right, even though there were still some instances when David had pissed me off too much for words (I can't even remember those fights, stuff like "it doesn't mean anything"/"yes it damn well DOES" or so, in other words, every fight we'd ever had).

But David and I did seem to be getting along better. But then after a while I started being so busy at school that there was a good possibility that I might've missed some warning signals even if I'd been paying attention. And there it was...the history of crushed expectations from our past made me realize, if I was ever going to forget, exactly how much work was I really in for? But I was in for it. I was.

* * *

I would like to think that I didn't fuck up too much along the way, but I would be lying to myself if I did, and I try not to do that too much these days.

I wish I could have been a better person, but even though I admit to learning a thing or two about my fucked up self during our break-up, it's not like all of a sudden I became this poster boy for perfection and maturity. Looking back, I am really, truly ashamed of how I treated David, of the way I'd acted, I really am.

But yeah, back then, I got the idea, too, I knew how I could be, but so what? I understood, but it didn't really help with how fucked up I was.

Anyway, I should've cut David some slack, because when it was all said and done, he actually seemed really ... content.

But my mind was ... everywhere. Up, down, sideways.

And that's about the time when Susana showed up again.

Susana is, well, Susana is Susana. She's David's ex-girlfriend.

David and I were struggling and trying to figure out how to get by, when Susana re-appeared out of nowhere and offered David an employment.

Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if David had actually been honest with her, about himself, about me, but...he wasn't. He very conveniently left out the part that he was gay, that he was in a relationship, in hopes that he could stay at his job, and...well, it became a very pressing matter.

And I got to experience it first-hand when David decided to bring Susana into our home.

* * *

I knew the world must be coming to an end. Everything was suddenly so funny? Well, fantastic. Just thrilling. I swear I didn't even flinch at the level of silliness or insensitivity into which the whole situation was descending. I was _amused _by what was happening. Really. Fucking amused.

Okay, I really wasn't. I was furious. I couldn't believe David was ready to joke about all this. It seemed so monumental, and it was imperative to me that he knew I would have never, *never* expected him to do anything like that. But still, I had no other choice at the time but to go along. There I was, a guy who loved David although I couldn't say that in front of Susana. Couldn't call myself his "boyfriend," or his "significant other" in front of her. No, I was just this cheerful cute gay guy who'd like to do nothing more than watch my flatmate get his groove on with a girl who'd turned up in my home so fortuitously.

Truth doesn't come cheap.

Honesty has a price.

Yeah, okay. Okay.

By the way, it was one of those times when I was reminded that David had this...life, that I didn't know anything about; that there's all these things that happened to him that didn't have anything to do with me.

That was a totally freak ass feeling.

At that moment, I wasn't sure sure which one was winning at the most-irritating-thing-in-this-room contest.

Or area. Or whatever you call those things when there aren't any walls.

I knew I shouldn't have been bending over backward trying to accommodate my lover's ex, but I tried to pretend that it was perfectly normal that my boyfriend just spent the last twenty minutes being way too chummy with his ex-girlfriend, as if I wasn't in the fucking room.

I tried to pretend that I liked it, that I was okay with it, that I knew it would be like that, because I couldn't think of any other solution to our problem. What the fuck else could I do, really? Besides providing the most pointed, meaningful looks I'd ever mustered up for David's benefit, because I was really hoping that he would take control of the situation, which I wasn't liking very much.

But he didn't. He just sat there and looked at me like he had no fucking clue what he was supposed to do. And it wasn't too long a wait before I got pissed as hell. I wanted to rip David to shreds. I couldn't believe he was doing something so incredibly stupid. Fuck, what did he think he'd been doing? I mean, I guess I knew why he thought he had to, but he was going to get someone hurt and it's going to be either me or him or Susana. And he just couldn't do that shit. Not like that. He just _can't_. As hypocritical as this might sound, David needed to find a better way to take care of things. What he was doing, it was his old way of handling it, and it couldn't work anymore. He was handling it the wrong way, a way that maybe used to work for him, but just a matter of time now before it won't anymore.

My look was dark the whole time, and David seemed beside himself. I'm not all that mysterious, so I'm sure he could read the thoughts that were passing through my brain. I wanted to call him on it, to just...flame him for putting me through some fucking trial, but in the end, I just decided to act amicably and pretend like nothing was out of normal. At any rate, I think some of my remarks came out too resentfully to maintain any illusion of "cool."

I have to say though, the whole time Susana was there, I thought it might leave me with more...what? Peace of mind? I thought I'd end up feeling assured (convinced?) about the non-viability of their relationship. Okay, that's pretty laughable now that I read it over, like Susana was sitting around worried about what I thought about anything, especially given that David was her main focus.

I don't want to spend a lot of time explaining what happened after she left, because it's about what you'd expect.

I didn't have enough perspective to say that my antipathy towards Susana was irrational, but I did understand that it was like an insect biting under my skin, in an area I couldn't reach. I only knew it irritated the fuck out of me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Days after, whenever I thought about David, imagining scenarios of what he could be doing inside Susana's shop, what *they* could be doing, all these picture had planted themselves in my mind.

So I decided that I wasn't about to relax my vigilance. I could see panic behind the mask David wore in front of Susana, a lacerated expression in his eyes that tore at my heart. The guy was confused and I knew why. Not because Susana was this wonderful person whom he missed so much, no. She wasn't. I mean, sure, she must've had good qualities, but when it came to David, she'd dropped the ball big time. She was an ex-girlfriend who cheated on him and they'd never worked it out and then she just resorted to bombarding him with e-mails and calls that he never returned and then she just disappeared for a while and now she's back. I guess on some level, that could leave a guy quite fucked up and confused. Not necessarily about his feelings, but about how in the fuck he's supposed to handle everything that was going on.

So I decided to wait. Went to school. Hung out with Yolanda all the time. Normal life. Trapped in its structure. Waiting.

*Why?*

There it was, that little nagging thought in my brain, reminding me of how things used to be.

I couldn't escape it, get out of it, expel it or rid myself of. I hated that I was afraid again, and it wasn't a natural fear that's part of growing up or being in a relationship and all that. This fear was new and wrong and I couldn't make it go away no matter what I did.

It was persistent enough that at some point, I asked myself, what exactly would this thing look like in the end, anyway? I had a sudden, uncomfortable conviction that it wasn't going to be at all what I had imagined. This no longer had anything to do with what I wanted, and fuck if I was going to play a game whose rules I never agreed to.

I mean, who really knew what the hell was going on? I didn't. So maybe… I would just go through my jaunt at school, and then maybe, maybe I'd think about tracking David down. A bit more paranoia had helped in facilitating my willingness to do that, too.

Moreover, tingeing the entire experience was the realization that, if either David or I fucked up again spectacularly, that this was it, our lives, only no hope, no maybes, just this, and nothing more. A wasteland to wander through. I supposed it would get easier. But I didn't really believe that.

The anger I kept pushing down suddenly burst up to the surface. I felt sick to my stomach and I felt my hands start to vibrate and I was wired so fucking tight I just wanted to... just wanted to... fucking... do something. I was frustrated and bored and angry and felt like I was being pushed down and stepped on and nothing and no one could make it better.

I couldn't wait any more. I knew that I had to go see. I had to see this. Go and see what it's all about. There was really no other choice. The possibility of certain pain did nothing to drive away the curiosity, the need to see what's happening and to understand, no matter how much it might hurt. There was also the very vaguest hope that I could be wrong.

So I'd given up, given in, got up and out of school on the way to see what David was up to. Tossed school aside, hounded his ass, made decisions based on where my boyfriend was hanging out at that given moment. Impulsive, really.

That's how I found myself walking towards Susana's shop, not knowing why I felt like I absolutely had to do something like that. Looking for punishment, wanting to wallow in self-pity, wondering what taking a few missed opportunities might've brought, wanting to know and hoping that I was mistaken...

Discovering that I wasn't.

Because it was right at that moment that I saw the kiss between them, and the pain hit me hard, that familiar stab in my heart, the icy cold hand gripping me inside. I couldn't believe what I was seeing...

Surprise?

*Why?*

I felt betrayed and blindsided. Half of me wanted to run away and hide, the other half wanted a shoulder to cry on, but all of me just stayed put and took in the scene until I couldn't anymore. I couldn't stand what was happening and I knew our relationship would never survive if David thought he could still do that to me. If, after all that time, he could think that he could do that to me all over again.

I tried to remember how to deal with this, how to handle this, and thinking how fucking stupid I was for not realizing that this would happen.

I drew in air, my heart pounding like crazy. I knew I couldn't rush in and start screaming at them because David would not like that shit, at all. So, I waited a second until I felt more in control, then went in.

* * *

I told David about the kiss. That I saw. How it made me feel.

Then he started saying these...things. Telling me that Susana gave him the attention that I hadn't been giving him lately, that he felt neglected and forgotten. Implying that I wasn't being fair in our relationship, for Christ's sakes... and it was so close to the truth, and so hard to hear... my heart broke. I felt tears come to my eyes and I swallowed hard, because I didn't want it to be true, didn't want him to be right.

I just stood there, holding my fragile heart together inside me, trying to put up some kind of shield, trying to protect myself from him, from her, in any way I could.

And he just looked at me...

And I realized it was all my fucking fault that he was looking at me like that. That he was feeling that way. And it made me feel shitty and ungrateful and like I've been unfair. I know he'd been pretty shitty and ungrateful and unfair to me lots of times, too, but...

...but I suddenly remembered what the last few weeks were like...convincing and coercing David to move in with me, pushing him to do everything I wanted him to, forgetting that in a real relationship, it was about shared responsibilities and commitment...

... realized that I left David all alone with all our burden, while I was doing...what exactly?

I somehow ceased to care. Funny how I went from caring intensely to whatever the fuck this is now. Not that I didn't care about _him_, or his being with me. It's just that all the stuff I thought I had to do had put a dim cast on everything else.

And in that second I realized that I wasn't treating David the way he was worth being treated. That he was so much more than I ever gave him credit for at the time. That in a very fucked up, demented way, this whole situation was actually a wake-up call.

I don't think I breathed the rest of the time. Just looked at him bewildered and stunned, and let what he said sink in. Somehow knew I *had* to understand what he was saying to me. That maybe that was the only thing he could hope for.

I closed my eyes and wished that I could change the world.

* * *

By the time I got back home, I had a headache and my brain was whirling with so many thoughts that I couldn't grasp even one. I kept wondering why I couldn't understand that nothing would ever change unless David and I were willing to help each other deal with things.

Because that's what we were supposed to do, right? We weren't married, but we were a couple. We hung out together, went to places together, ate together, studied together, slept together, fucked together. We enjoyed each other's company. And we...sometimes, we talked together especially when one of us was...hurting. I knew we drove each other crazy with stuff and sometimes I felt like a big loser for bringing a lot of shit to him and vice versa, but I think that's what people do when they care about each other, right?

Okay, when I asked David to move in together, I knew there was a distinct possibility that we'll be screwed. I knew that we were going to have to balance our lives, our money...scrounging and saving and budgeting in a way that neither of us have ever had to do before. But although I knew all that and countless other things I hadn't even considered just yet, I somehow thought that we would be...

Okay.

Content. Sated. Satisfied. Proud.

Jeez, what a fucking dumbass.

I knew that I shouldn't have left David to carry all the responsibility, knew I really shouldn't, knew that David did try anyway, when he couldn't and shouldn't and I really, really, should have realized that early on. Knew that I should have been willing to put my money where my mouth was.

I knew that I should have also worked to achieve what I expected for our relationship. Should have stopped letting David down and fucking things up.

I should have been concentrating on those things that I could control-namely how I treated David. It's so obvious that I should have been comforting and reassuring and supporting him, rather than rebuffing and ignoring him.

I should have done all of those things and more.

I knew all that, but it seemed to be common knowledge that had been forgotten in my selfishness and immaturity. There was some really intense irony with how I was behaving the whole time.

All I had left then was the memory of David's face... the look on his face when he told me what he felt. And afterwards when he just... looked at me. Like he was disappointed. Don't think I've really seen that look from him before. I've seen lust and excitement and happiness and anger and guilt and regret and passion and sadness... but not disappointment before. Not like that.

It hurt. It felt fucking shitty.

And so I just sat there on our couch. All alone. And it was like ten thousand times before, but completely brand new. Reality and perception kept shifting before my eyes. Kept blurring in and out of focus, while thoughts of money and love and happiness and commitment swirled around in my head. Thoughts of what the fuck I was doing and what I was going to do or say and how the fuck we got there in the first place.

Just right then... I wished I could pretend for a little that our lives were like they used to be. Before Marcos, before Susana, before everything got so fucking complicated, when all David and I knew and cared about was going somewhere we could fuck the shit out of each other. When we thought the biggest crisis in the world would be when his parents found out that he was gay.

At the same time, I found myself wishing like hell I was a little older.

Hours passed, don't really remember how long...and David was back. I knew that I had to talk to him right then. And so, while we were on the couch, for that hour, that minute...until the need came to take him into my arms, to suck him, to fuck him, to let him know that I really did fucking miss him more than words could ever possibly do justice...I talked.

Told him how sorry I was, and maybe expected to get a barrage of lies and truths thrown back at me. But instead he just asked me to look at him and then *he* talked and I found out that maybe, just maybe...I really didn't like how much I still needed to hear those things from him, how much I wanted to know that he would always love me, that there was no one else, that he missed me, too. Because it's a fact of our lives now, it's not anything we could pretend to otherwise.

I risked looking him in the eye, almost afraid of what I'd see, but I saw _him_, the real him. Really, really _see_ him. Relief soared through me, like a fucking weight lifted off my back, and I felt almost dizzy with it, my head spinning and I let out this big breath of air I'd hardly been aware I was holding. To say I was astonished was putting it mildly. While I'd been busy reaming myself and trying to get everything back in line, David had obviously dealt with some issues of his own.

Maybe I was wrong to think he'd leave me. Maybe I was wrong to think that he might leave *this*. Maybe he loved this and needed this as much as I did.

And when he pulled out the ring, there was one single emotion that flowed through me – joy. I sat there and looked at it for what felt like days, weeks, months, so happy I could fucking cry, and the look on his face after hearing my reply let me know that he realized exactly how much I loved him, too.

I swallowed around the ball in my throat and took a deep breath, feeling foolish for worrying so much, for caring so much, for being so fucking scared. For not expecting that he'd say and do this. Fuck, some things were so different already, and I didn't always remember how much it's changed.

But I'm glad that he did. And I loved that he knew me well enough to understand me. To love me anyway.

I wanted to hug him hard and kiss his face forever and just get the fuck out of there, and not care what happened. But it mattered what happened. For all sorts of reasons, not the least of which was David's confidence in us and my own sense of self-satisfaction, of knowing that I helped, just a little bit, to fix things between us.

"You told me it would work out. So... it will." He leaned into me and kissed me again lightly. His fingers snaked up into my hair and held me to him, kissing, breathing into each other, wet lips and slick tongues slipping across one another and tuning out everything else. Just tasting and touching. We slipped off the couch and leaned into each other closer. Put my hand on his thigh and brushed my fingers across the denim of his jeans. Breathed in the smell of cologne and got high on his breath. Gentle touches of our lips together. Mouths opening and closing around our tongues sliding across lips. Nothing frantic. Nothing heavy. Just kissing and feeling good. Everything else was spinning around us, but this... *this* is always the same. The harder we fought it, the more apparent it became. The more we denied it, the more real it got. I wrapped my fingers into the short hairs on the back of his neck. Holding him to me with soft kisses that seemed to last forever.

But then forever stopped. His lips pulled away and he pressed his forehead against mine.

"I get hard just kissing you," He said it in a loud whisper and I laughed through my nose, grabbing the back of his neck. His eyes stared into me and his skin felt warm against mine. I still feel the memory of his lips on mine. Millions of kisses that have left behind little traces of the things he couldn't always say.

It was a warm afternoon, the sun streaming in, beating down on us as we got up to the bedroom, David's kisses on my face, his scent all over, in my mouth, on my skin, filtered through my hair.…

So completely different from our first time, but so very much the same…

I remembered the first time, remembered certain things, remembered everything and nothing at the same time. Remembered tasting bubble gum on his breath and knowing I had to be imagining it. Remembered the scratch of his watch against my bare shoulder as he reached up to put his arms around me. Remembered the way he almost fell over when I opened his pants and cupped his cock in my palm for that first time.

Remembered all that so well, and remembered feeling different and dominant and arrogant and like I wanted to take him. Have him. Knowing that I *did* have him and that I *could* take him and riding that fucking rush of power at knowing.

Back to the present, he looked up at me expectantly. Confidently. He knew what he wanted. Knew what was coming, what was going to happen, what it was going to feel like… knew that I'd cry out when I come, knew that I'd pull his hair in ecstasy, knew every fucking move I'd make just like I knew every fucking move he'd make…

And that was just… so good. Loving this. Really loving this. So fucking different, so… I didn't know what, but it was amazing to know that no matter what I did or what I had, I'd always have this. Have him. Here, waiting for me. Wanting me. Always fucking wanting me.

For a while, I pushed aside thoughts of forever and focused on now and him and this because it's here and we both missed it, wanted it, needed it. It made me think of old times and new times and just how glad I was that everything worked out the way that it did. Maybe some stuff was completely fucked up – David's been fired and we still didn't know how we were going to get by for long – but somehow being together made all that shit better. Made them seem... unimportant.

We made love and it was passion and euphoria and relief and just-so-fucking-good... and I wondered if...

Maybe... just maybe...

This is what forever felt like.

* * *

The whole thing with Román was shit I had blown David's way before, but we'd pretty much settled it. Or so David thought.

But of course, I turned out to be very, very wrong. In fact, it's so stupid now that I don't even want to dwell on it. And I don't want to have to defend myself, justify, explain, backpedal, evade, say one thing while working my way to a seemingly unrelated point…

Let me give you the gist of what happened, though:

There was one thing about how David was with Román that stuck out to me. Susana scared me on a different level but only because it hit a place a lot closer to home. Meanwhile, David was only friends with Román and I knew that as a fact somewhere deep down no matter how I might have acted that whole time, but there were just all these kinds of undercurrents that I didn't have the context to work out in every situation. It made me nervous in a completely different way.

But soon enough I was made to realize that my own immediate emotional reaction was way out of proportion to what I was faced with. In reality, there was really not much that could be said about the whole situation, and as the bite of uncertainty and frustration and anxiousness eventually sifted away...all I was left with was relief.

Fuck, yeah. Relief.

And in the end, we all got used to the way things were. That happened more quickly than you might think.

* * *

You know those stupid old Magic Eye posters? If you stare at the dots long enough, a cuddly puppy will suddenly appear. Or maybe a sad clown, or an ugly landscape. Sometimes, David will pop out at me like that - order out of chaos, sense out of nonsense, and a thousand times more beautiful than any poster in the world - and I'll start to believe that I truly see him. That I truly understand him.

And then something happens, something so completely unexpected, so seemingly inexplicable, so fucking *bizarre*, and the picture will scramble again. Total confusion.

I should be able to predict it by now. Sometimes the surprise is incredibly good, and sometimes it's incredibly bad, but it always comes eventually. Never trust the cuddly puppy. I oughtta get a tattoo of that or something.

We were having one of those times, one of the clear, understanding, almost psychically connected times, when David started dreaming about girls.

At the time, I wasn't exactly sure what was going on. All I knew was that David was acting very *weird* the whole time. He was silent, and there was an edge of thoughtfulness about him that made me nervous. He looked kind of...disconnected, like something was happening that he couldn't process properly. Most of his attention was turned completely inward, focusing on something he couldn't or wouldn't share. I could see a crease cross his forehead, the worry and apprehension, the anxiousness and despondency. All those tiny, subtle differences that only a friend or lover would recognize.

I wanted to think that whatever it was, I'd know because I wanted to think that David would tell me, especially after everything we've been through. But also because of our history, I knew that wanting to think and actually thinking were two different things and even if I did think something, I might be wrong. So I thought maybe David would tell me and maybe he wouldn't, but there was no way to know unless I waited.

If I could be sure even then.

It went on like that for days, until it was too late to pretend or hide or think that he'd ever talk to me about it. There was something going on with him. Something that I was not meant to know. He was pretending like nothing was amiss, pretending for him, pretending for me, because maybe he wanted to deal with it, but he knew *I* couldn't.

I was so bent out of shape, going nuts because I knew something was up but didn't know the details, and I'm totally uncontrollable when that happens. Meanwhile, I knew that David would either keep it in until it made him sick, or he'd let it out, and then who knew what the fuck would happen.

Desperation set in.

It was time to get clever.

Such a little thing it seemed at the time, and yet it set off such a tidal wave of consequences.

Put that baldly, what was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to _think_? I was getting pretty tired of all the guessing. What David had done, what I myself had done, if either of us was at fault. We still had communication issues; but we seemed to be working on them. Sort of.

Not for this, though.

At first, I tried to put all the things that David had said and done in the last few days. My head was reeling from how much it all meant. So I eventually decided to get him high. Maybe that could be a way of confronting him, without really doing it. Or maybe because I was completely fucked and just didn't know it. I mean, maybe it's time to look inward if you actually have to start drugging your boyfriend just to force the truth out of him, you know? But hey, I'm a big fan of introspection and obviously capable of projecting my own deviousness onto David, who was just clueless sometimes.

I sat there for just a second, just to get this under control. I couldn't deal with David without composing myself, locking this shit down. David would know, always knew, when something was wrong. And really, nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Really.

And then I decided to grab the proverbial bull by the horns once I'd re-familiarized myself with the other function my tongue was good for, and decided to get this out of the way.

David's answers gave me a little panic attack. And by little, of course, I mean ridiculous and overblown. But how serious was he? Did he really believe everything said? What was the appropriate response?

I just stood there, and I could practically feel myself vibrating with anger or fear or disgust or incredulity or _something_.

Jeez. I thought we were going to be happy now. I thought that was the point.

The next day, I was completely beside myself and brought it all up when David awoke. I knew that he would say things to make us both feel better, to try to lighten the mood, break the tension that had descended between us. Try to make it seem much easier, much less important, much less terrifying than I really felt it was. He wanted to believe that everything would be all right and that the things that he told himself to make the world a fucking better place were the same things I needed to hear. I knew he would tell me that we were in control and then tell me that he loved me and maybe I really needed to hear that, on some level deep inside me, but I couldn't. Even though he was being so completely serious, so completely fucking _honest_…I couldn't. Not right then. Not that day.

Because that day wasn't about me or him or me and him. It was about everybody.

I think.

God, I don't fucking know.

So I spouted off some random crap about...I don't even know anymore. Jesus, the argument, how idiotic was that. Was that an argument? I exploded, all of my politically correct, live-and-let-live ideals going out the window in the face of my overwhelming, jealous insecurity.

Fuck it. I was going to be hysterical. Fuck that I was skipping around reasons to be angry at this bullshit. There was so much to choose from, I didn't have to be reasonable! The time for reason was over, it had been blown out of the water a long time ago, and if I'd forgotten that, I'd have to be the biggest idiot on the planet.

...okay, looking back now, I don't really believe any of the bullshit I said back then, and in all honesty, the whole thing had been stupid. I know I wouldn't say those things now, but...I don't know what the fuck I was thinking back then, okay? I just knew that I was nervous, like... like... fuck, I didn't even know *what* about exactly. My stomach was in knots and my palms were sweaty and I just wanted to be clear and cognizant and aware of every fucking thing.

I hated every minute of it. I mean, David tried to laugh it off but but it wasn't funny at all. But he couldn't quite follow my anxiety about the whole thing, and he was trying to counter my lunacy with reason, which just aggravated me in the extreme. Finally he just stood close and kissed me, even though I was stiff and uncompromising, feeling completely self-righteous in my irritation.

Okay, obviously, trying to push David at all at that moment had been a slight miscalculation. There really wasn't much of an excuse for losing my shit on him. It wasn't even his fault, and I couldn't exactly play the blame game on that one. When it became obvious that something drastic was up, David had been fairly straight to the point, but I hadn't exactly shifted out of hysterical mode just yet, so naturally just reacted like a complete prick. Par for the course, just ask David.

Fuck.

I walked quickly away from him and went to the bathroom on the other side of the flat. Flipped the toilet seat up and contemplated vomiting. But I decided that's over the top even for me, so I just slumped down next to the toilet and felt sorry for myself instead.

Christ. How pathetic. I felt panicked. Like I was being pulled into some vortex that I couldn't stop, couldn't pull myself out of.

Fuck... fuck... fuck...

This was not how this was supposed to work.

Shit.

Later, I tried to ignore it, tried not to let it concern me too much. I tried not to think about what David said, tried not to think about what he might do, tried not to feel... like that again, tried not to show how scared it made me inside. But then it ate at me and ate at me... and I knew I was totally fucking screwed when I confronted David about it but refused to listen to what he had to say.

It kept bothering me. It bothered me in the way a splinter dug way down deep in the heel of your palm would. The one that you pick at and fuss with and pull the skin away from but it never actually dislodges. It was making me insane in ways that I apparently haven't discovered yet.

Was it possible that David might be bisexual? Of course it was. There are things that are inherently possible, that we deny in order to function and thrive if we're not sure we want to accept or deal with the truth. This was one of those things.

Funny how you think you can know someone so well, then find out that maybe you really don't. Find out that maybe they think things or have the ability to do things that you never, ever thought they would. Find out that maybe they're not entirely the person you thought they were. Find out that maybe they're a little different than you imagined. Find out that you just don't know everything when you were absolutely positive that you did.

I mean, yeah, of course I knew David. Better than pretty much anyone could ever know another person. Nothing could ever change that.

But…

I started to wonder how after everything that went on, he could still come up with stuff I had to work on figuring out.

Okay, I got that he was 19. I got that he's got a lot more things to mull over. We both did. Okay. Got it. Done.

But maybe there was just more than I anticipated.

It just felt so wrong. And isn't that just as hypocritical as any one person has ever been?

Yes, I definitely had that fear of woman-lust that might be re-awoken in David. I couldn't understand it in my head, because I only like one gender, so I didn't know how easy or difficult it was to say, "Okay, I'm with a man now, so my love for a live vagina during sexytime is..dormant?" Was that how it worked? I mean, I knew all about falling in love/loving a person rather than a gender but what is it? Do you need to suppress a part of "you" when you are with one of the two? Or do you lose or sacrifice something regardless of who you decided to be with? I couldn't understand the process, and it created a storm of emotions in me, opening up a hell of a lot of insecurities.

Because what if someone of the opposite sex tickled his fancy? If he left me for a man, it's one thing. If he left me for a woman, I would be insecure that I just couldn't give him an aspect of life that he needed. This might sound silly, because the end result would be the same, but it still would be a different kind of "hurt".

Or maybe it was just about the anticipation of the fuck, of the look on David's face when he pushes his dick in my mouth, or before he twists me around and yanks down my pants. When he slides his cock into me, when he fucks me hard and fast and makes me come just when he does.

But what if the stage opens up to new players? What if I couldn't catch up? If I come in second place? Next will be third, then fourth, and I couldn't have that.

I also had that bizarre and irrational fear that David would soon might change so much that he'd be somehow unrecognizable. He'd change to start lying to me, he'd change to start pitying me, he'd change to start tolerating me, and then he'd change to want to leave me.

Or maybe I was overreacting and making too big a deal out of everything and maybe I just needed time to learn to accept it if it was true and we could figure out a way so that he'd want to stay with me.

Maybe I would have been willing to do that if I gave myself the chance, because I loved him. More than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my entire fucking life. And being around him, being held close to him… maybe it could make a lot of the other stuff okay.

But my head wasn't quite there when I decided to walk out on him.

* * *

David just stood there looking at me, through this thing, through the clouds and haze, and I expected to see anger, fucking *deserved* to see hatred and rage and fury.

But I didn't see any of that. I looked at him and he just had this look of finality to him. Like he knew this was going to happen. Maybe not like this, but he knew it was going to happen somehow...some way.

I guess we both knew it was inevitable.

Both knew we couldn't play this hidden game much longer, knew that we couldn't keep up our silent protest forever.

So I walked away from him, not daring to say anything else, not wanting to realize how many times I've proven myself wrong.

I couldn't stand to keep hurting him, hated myself for saying the things I said, and yet they kept coming out, kept churning out of me.

And I couldn't tell him he didn't deserve what I said. Couldn't tell him he didn't deserve to hear that shit. And it made me hate myself for being such an asshole. Hated myself for thinking that I needed to be that way, when I knew I didn't have to.

Walking out on David that way …what the fuck was wrong with me? Was I that stupid that I'd make the same mistakes over and over again? Didn't I love him enough to stick with him? That's what I thought I was doing when I forgave him so quickly after the Marcos saga, but then, fuck, look what I was doing now! So, if I knew David so well, why were his dreams such a surprise? Okay, maybe not a surprise, maybe just the breathtaking kind of turn in a relationship that leaves you wondering what the fuck was happening.

But I was surprised at myself at how hard it was for me to just let these things go. How hard it was to bite back my words, to stop from walking away, to not make these kinds of mistakes.

But maybe, maybe I really didn't know how to deal with this. Maybe I didn't know shit. Maybe I thought David wouldn't get hurt. Thought I needed to make mistakes and the mistakes I'd make would be ones that I'd learn from. Maybe it was all happening way too fucking fast and that was the problem. Maybe David didn't really know what was going on himself.

But to leave him? Maybe that's going way too fucking far.

But I buried that. Kept it buried. Insisted on my instinct. An instinct I've tried to get rid of, an instinct that kept rearing its fucking ugly head, an instinct that should *never* have come into play around David.

The guilt I felt was overwhelming, and not nearly as redeeming as I thought it would be.

* * *

It was cold outside, and raining – that kind of melodramatic drizzle that happens in movies to reflect inner turmoil.

Everything I took out of my bag was _bothering_ me. In my own room in my parents' house, on my study table, in my bookshelves they looked wrong; out of place in this room filled with things that didn't even really mean anything to me anymore. They felt like artifacts from another life. Souvenirs of life with David, even though I had some of them before I even knew David.

Nothing seemed right.

Crawled onto the bed and curled up against my pillow, closed my eyes, tried to drown out everything. Made the visions stop. Calmed the guilt. Stopped my brain from whirling around a dozen scenarios and trying to remember, all the fucking time, trying to piece together snatches of memory and story and pull them into something that made sense.

But none of it made sense.

Punched at my pillow and tossed and turned and groaned and sighed and got too hot then too cold and just felt so fucking lonely. Wished I was staring at the ceiling of the flat. Wished I heard the buzz of our fridge and smelled the faint scent of weed. Wished David was lying beside me, arm thrown over my chest, little snuffling snores in my ears.

Jerked off and it only made me feel more alone.

It hurt. I felt it inside. Burning. Waiting. Ticking like a timebomb.

* * *

"How are you doing?" My mom asked carefully.

"Um, fine..."

"No, I mean, how are you… personally?"

Somehow, I couldn't picture myself saying, "I was freaking out because David might be bisexual, and unless he's a full flaming faggot, I'm not comfortable with our future," so I opted with, "I'm fine, Mom."

Silence.

I looked at her. "Really, Mom. I'm fine."

"How's David?"

"I don't know." God, what was it about being around my mother that made me feel like I was 13, all over again? Ever the petulant tone, not the mature sound I could now draw out at will.

She pressed her lips together, nodded. "Honey, would you really have married him?"

"What?"

"That time when you almost got married to him instead of Borja. Would you really have done it?"

"Of course I would." At her skeptical look, I continued, "You know I would have. You think I'd be spending my time doing what I've done if I didn't?"

"And would you have meant all the words, sicker, poorer, good, bad, better, worse? Would you have meant the words if you'd said them?"

"Of course I would!"

"Well, welcome to worse." She stopped there, and let the words sink in through the quiet of the room. "You're disillusioned. Usually happens after a while. Honey, I'm not defending David, but you fell in love with the good things in him. The problem is, you can't separate those from the rest. You're so big on the idea of marriage and living together, but it doesn't seem to me you're willing to bear the responsibility it implies, dealing with an entire other person whose life is now yours."

"You think I should go back to him."

Smiling, she said, "No. I think that you should take this much more seriously than you seem to."

"I can't believe you said that! Not take this seriously! Why are you always on his side?"

"Oh, honey, I'm on your side. But sometimes you just have to trust him, too."

"I don't know if I always can." My voice was practically a whisper.

"You can. He does love you."

"So what should I do?"

She laughed. "Nothing. You think strength is in action. Sometimes it takes all the strength in the world to do nothing, and just wait. You're doing the right thing, what you need to do, for yourself. But if you're the kind of man I think… that I know you are, you're doing the right thing not just for yourself. It may not feel like that, but you never know. Trust your instincts."

"Okay," I said, but for some reason, I felt like I had to...justify myself. "I only asked David to move in with me because I wanted commitment...between the two of us. And okay, because I wanted to. I love him. I fell in love with him as he was…"

"No, you didn't," she interrupted.

"What?"

"You didn't fall in love with the guy who hurt you, the one who ignored your feelings, or went after other people in front of you. You fell in love with the one who cared for you. Who had a look that was just for you. Who was there for you whenever you needed him, bought you things not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Who held you at night, and made love to you. And it isn't wrong to expect the man you love to stay with you, and only you. The thing that's hard, is that you can't ask him to do that just for you. But maybe with the threat of losing you… maybe he'll want to do it for himself. And I really think he had already decided on that, Fer."

My mouth dropped open. "Yeah, okay…"

I decided to go along. I had come over for… whatever. Mommy love. Not two hours ago, I had been brooding about David, knowing the clock was ticking, still torn over whether I should trust my head or my heart. Or if my head and my heart were plotting against me, and neither one wanted to go back to David. Or both did. But if my head and heart were in collusion against me, what part of me was doing the thinking? Need I ask.

Of all the fucked up clichés, this was the worst. Head, heart, dick. I had no idea if I could trust myself, if I was being self-loving, or self-loathing.

* * *

Tick.

Stared at the ceiling.

Tick.

Listened to my breathing.

Tick.

Closed my eyes.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The incessant ticking of the clock worked its way into my brain, making me aware of each second flashing by, each moment of my life spilling away. Each spin of the hand around the dial took me closer to dealing with everything that day meant. How pivotal that day could be. Would be.

I wanted to remember the feeling of being with David, under the soft lights, warm and wet, his hands around me, his cheek pressed tenderly against my chest. In the school restroom, his hands holding mine, his lips softly, wetly, worshipping my lips, my neck, every inch he could find. Or, lying on the bed, cradled in his body, his hands on my hip as he pressed every inch of himself to me.

I wanted to remember these things, hold on to them with every ounce of strength I possessed, but at the same time, to remember these things was to know that David loved me, that he fucking cherished me, and I left him.

His face flashed behind my eyes. Sense memory of the way he smelled, the way it would settle in my stomach, make my cheeks flush, my dick get hard.

Missed him.

But I left him, left that, left everything for... it's hard to remember why I left him.

I didn't want to go to school that day. Wanted to pretend the whole outside world didn't exist. Pretend that David and I never broke up and that when I finally get out of bed I'd see myself back in our flat and I'd have that satisfied feeling inside that everything was going my way.

But.

Nope.

Listened to the traffic noise outside my window. To the clock ticking.

Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes and thought of everything good. Every fucking good thing I could think of, the way David always made me smile, the way he smelled, the way he'd laugh when he came.

I thought of everything good I ever had with him and I thought hard about it until I didn't want to cry anymore.

But then I cried anyway.

* * *

I have the best friend in the whole fucking world. Yoli was practically choking on everything she must want to say about why the fuck I lost my mind and broke up with David again.

The thing is that I didn't really have an answer.

I mean, looking at it realistically, I couldn't really blame David for this one because it's not like he could control anything about his dreams, right? And also by then I'd already realized that I _seriously_ fucked up, that I wasn't really upset at David, mainly I was upset with myself, for the choice that I'd made. For leaving him.

But…

I found myself telling Yoli about all this shit that had been going on in my head, trying to explain...well, to work out for myself really...why I kept feeling like the implications of David's possible bisexuality were something that could do major damage to our relationship; like it really undermined my trust in us having a future together, because it seemed like David was only just starting to get to know who he really was, that he might outgrow me and look for something else now that there might be more options for him – like it's something so inevitable that the stars would have to fall out of the sky just to make sure it would happen. But at the same time, I also knew that David had never ever blamed me for being upset about it, that he tried his goddamned best to reassure me, so I wasn't really sure why the whole thing made me feel so bad.

Yoli gave me one of her 'duh!' looks, and when I went all, 'what? why?', she asked me what I would think if it happened the other way around.

I kind of didn't get what she meant so finally she said, the words seeming to tumble out of her mouth like she'd been saving them up for a long time: "Look at it from here, Fer. If I had this on again off again thing with a guy that I was crazy about, and we'd just gotten back together after I almost married someone else, and I freaked out and left him because of his dreams. And then I actually got my head out of my ass, so now feeling totally shitty and have to wait all this while to find out know how my boyfriend would react to anything I did, while said boyfriend is trying to cope with all the suck-ass shitty things that happened. I mean, for a long time, I kind of let him think that everything was fine and I was going to be right there with him no matter what, and then all of a sudden I spring it on him that I'm heading off and leaving him behind. If all that had happened to me, what would you be thinking, Fer? Is it really worth it to hurt him to protect myself?"

She spoke really quickly, the words just rushing out all in a jumble, so that it's only my long experience with Yoli that helped me to understand them. But I did and they made me feel really sick. Because put like that it sounded so fucking cold. But really, that's exactly what I did to David, right?

Damn it. How could I be so strong...and so fucking weak...at the same time?

"I don't really know, Yolanda." I looked at her and gave her that, because if nothing else, it was fucking honest.

She shrugged as if that explained everything, and maybe it did.

* * *

The thing I hate about epiphanies is that they always come at a bad time. Always.

In art class, I learned that when you draw from life, it's all about patterns. You look at the thing you want to replicate and find the patterns and shapes within. The way an eye is kind of an oval. The way the neck is a cylinder. Treetops are ovals. And inside each pattern is another pattern. You copy them, improve them, sharpen them. Roque called it "rendering". In the end, the pieces – the patterns – they overlap, and you have a whole. It's like jigsaw puzzles.

Well, I "learned" it. I always knew that, too.

Life also comes in patterns.

This wasn't my life. I thought it was. For a long time, I thought it was, thought I could learn to be happy, to accept it, to take all the things I didn't like for all the things I did.

Now I wasn't sure if I didn't want David to change or if I just needed to accept that he already had.

But being in the light of day at the bright strobes of Zurbarán, when my brain and my ego were spinning out of control… when everything looked different and felt different and my heart was buried too deep in my chest and I let myself think too much and and hurt too much even though it was all me, all my fucking fault…

I knew, one way or another, that David and I were going to have to deal with this.

The place was mostly empty. I glanced at the clock. David was in the art classroom. Waiting. Pretending he wasn't.

Damn it.

Was it too late for us? Was I too late? More to the point, did David trust that I really meant this? Did he have any faith in me anymore?

I watched his face as he scrutinized me and tensed when I realized it was anger I saw in his eyes. Cold, controlled fury. I was mesmerized. I didn't think I've ever seen him that way before. Not even when he found out about me and Yoli, or the night of the party when he confronted me about Borja. Or even that time I neglected to mention that his dad was cheating on his mom. His anger was usually hot, right up front, not crystallized in ice like this.

But if there was one thing I've known about David, it's that it's easier for him to just fall back into himself when things get nuts. And if I have also taken away something from my life with him, and in all honesty, I couldn't even begin to recount all of the things he has taught me about myself, then it's the fact that it's okay to make mistakes.

Being there with him, I wanted to do anything to fix things. I'd fucking do anything. I didn't want our relationship to go. I really, really didn't.

_I can take this, it doesn't make a difference. Like a test or something. I'll pass this._

I had to feel him, touch him, put my hands on his shoulders and pull him close, press his body to mine and see his eyes, looking at me, staring into me, trying to see inside, trying to see past the thing that's come to sit between us.

I kissed him and breathed him in and pulled him up from his seat and swallowed back the familiarity that crept up my throat. I didn't know what was going to happen, but hoped that maybe it wasn't too late to stop it.

Everything made sense again, wrapped up around him, a soft warm body that always smelled so good, tasted so perfect. It's outside of here with words and expectations and dark looks and even darker emotions... it's outside of that cocoon that the world stopped making sense.

David was there. In my arms. And there was no one else, nothing else taking his time away from me. There weren't any more words to say, any more lessons to teach, or battles to win or lose. There was just me and him and this… what we've always had, always will have.

We had the whole night.

We had _forever_.

His lips pressing against mine, our breaths passing from one throat to the other, I could almost forget what just happened between us...

But I opened my eyes, and though David's were closed, his brows were furrowed together, worry etched across his face. I put my palm on his forehead, pushed his head back a little to break our kiss. He looked startled, awoken, but I needed him to focus on me, not on the battle raging inside his head.

I lifted my hips a little and pushed my arm between us, opened myself wide to him, completely relaxing. He slid inside me in one movement, filling me up, and I felt safe. I felt comfort with us joined together, felt strong and like nothing could touch us.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath leaving a pocket of warmth against my throat. We moved together slowly, his fingers sliding under my head and tangling in my hair. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, crossed my ankles over his hips.

Rocked slowly, together.

Nothing else mattered.

I put my hands on his face, kissed his cheeks, kissed his eyelids, kissed his nose. His mouth dropped open a little as I tipped my hips up again, and he moved deeper inside me, then withdrew... deeper...then out...the rhythm starting again. I sucked in a sharp breath... felt so fucking good...felt... more amazing than anything.

We fucked until we were both so close to the edge, riding that plane between pleasure and ecstasy. His hips moved into me again...guiding me to where he wanted to take me, kept sending me to the edge, then backing off, prolonging this for an eternity... forever. The intensity building, building, building until we couldn't stop, couldn't stop it from happening, couldn't stop what's inevitable...what's meant to happen.

David said something – it may have been a curse, or a moan, but it was under his breath; the sounds of David's pleasure, every gasp and moan and curse and every jagged breath, were fire in my veins.

And then, just over my own breath, I heard my name, muttered in that voice David has just before he comes – all thick and tight and strangled with want. One syllable and I bit down on my bottom lip and came, spilling over David's fingers, still stroking with every thrust. Shuddering, still coming down, when David gripped my hips again and cried out as his thrusts quickened and sharpened, then slowed as his body relaxed.

Inevitably, predictably, expectedly, we both got to the edge. Played a dangerous game unlike anything we've ever done before. Even though we knew it was impossible for us to keep on playing on that precipice forever...

* * *

Afterwards, in the darkness of the room, I stood in front of David, watching his face. I could see his features, colored blue and grey, his chest rising and falling with every inhalation and exhalation.

I didn't know how to act exactly, couldn't seem to find the right pattern that would show how sorry I was for leaving him. Didn't know how to behave around the man whose heart I just tromped underfoot again. Didn't know how to reconcile the love I truly felt for him with the way I constantly treated him.

There was a pause that stretched and mutated and gave us both too much time to think. The silence was thick, so many things hanging, but no words left to speak. David's shoulders dropped a little. He looked at the ground. I didn't know if he was still pissed at me, or just trying to figure out what to say, or fighting with himself inside, or what...

Seconds went by and David started talking. At first, I honestly didn't understand what he was saying, because it was so different from what I expected to hear. But soon enough I figured out where the conversation was headed, and fuck if it didn't feel like a goddamn knife in my heart.

It's ridiculous for him to be anywhere else. I didn't want him anywhere else. And I knew there were a million things I could have said. I could have apologized over and over, I could have asked him what he was going to do. I should have told him how miserable I'd be without him, that he couldn't leave me just like that. I wanted to tell him that we've been through worse, tell him that I'd always be here.

Wanted to tell him that I didn't mean to push, I didn't mean to hurt, I didn't mean...anything. I only wanted him back.

But I didn't know how he'd react. Didn't know what he'd think, what he'd think about me, about my words, about what my fucking statements would be really saying.

I was filled with a burning anger inside, a terrible false hatred of him, because I didn't know how else to feel, how else I could feel, how else to try and make everything make sense. So in my desperation to maintain any semblance of control over the situation, I instead told him to go to hell. Called him an asshole.

So casual a tossing of words, almost as if they had no meaning, no hidden sufferance that would keep us both awake long into the night.

I knew he was hurting, knew he was pissed, knew that I was, too. Just so fucking angry I couldn't stand it, felt like I was gonna explode. Or maybe I wasn't angry, maybe I was just scared. Scared of what he said, what it meant, what it could mean. Scared that he was serious. Scared that he'd really go away. Scared that it was really happening.

Fuck, the up-and-down emotions were killing me. I stormed out, slamming the door, but regretting it as soon as I did. I wanted to get back in and beg him to stay. But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't. So instead I just fell to my knees and wondered why I was the one that always left. Why I was the one that always demanded that he fold and bend to my every wish and he asks nothing in return. And then I do something so stupid, some miscalculation that turned into something more than it was, and somehow all the hurt I felt inside came out in words that I never wanted or meant to say. Words that hurt him. Words that made him look at me like he knew this would happen and I hated that I fucked up again. Hated that neither one of us will ever be perfect. That this will never be perfect because we're not like that, life isn't like that, fate intervenes and makes you do ridiculous things, selfish things, stupid things.

Outside, I swallowed hard and tried to breathe normally as I heard my breath shakily leaving my throat. Then I started thinking how far away David would be from me. Wondered how I'd ever live without him. Wondered if I *could* live without him.

And if I could, what kind of life would I have without him?

Not the life I expected, that's for sure. Not the life I wanted.

And so...I was left wondering why.

Wondering whether it was worth it.

Because I realized that it was all too high a price to pay. That, in trying to have it all, I might be left with nothing. Nothing that meant anything to me.

My ears were burning and my mind was churning with bone-chilling fear, now that I knew, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that David wasn't fighting anymore. He was not going to push, not going to urge, not be out there expecting anything from me. He'd fought too hard and too long for too much, and he was tired.

This time apart had done too much damage. I'd done too much damage. Or, at least, I'd let too much damage happen. I should have known this was how it would go.

But...damage could be fixed. I believed that. I had to believe that.

But fuck, I didn't want to cry like some little wuss as I thought about David and how I left him, and thought about how he was going to leave me, and I thought... again... for the five hundredth time...

What the fuck were we doing?

Deep breath. Okay. Deep breath. Just... keep... breathing...

This can't be happening. It can't. There's no fucking way.

It wasn't over it wasn't over it wasn't over not over not over not over... couldn't be... not gonna give up... not gonna... couldn't couldn't couldn't...

* * *

Everything was changing and all I wanted to do was stop it. Stop _me_, stop time from marching on and dragging with it an inevitable sea of change.

All the next day I watched him with sad eyes and calculated maneuvers. David...staring at him made me feel better and worse at the same time. I saw him at the lockers with Yoli and Salva and we both stopped, just stayed there for a second longer, together, despite the distance. He looked at me and I looked back at him and I didn't know why we were there, or how we got there. But somehow, everything felt different, with all the regret and guilt from both of us for words that should've been said and actions that should've been carried out, but…

The panic made me want to come to him and bring him back, to hold him to my chest and rain kisses on his face and never, ever lose the smell of his hair in my nose. I wanted to ask him to tell me what to do, what to say, how to be… I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I loved him, that I never want him to leave.

Because the truth of it is... no matter what I did, or said… I found myself loving him as much as I ever did before.

* * *

I must have walked 20 miles around the city, stripping as much bullshit as I could from my psyche.

With all the thoughts came the realization that though the feelings were there, the emotions and passion and love were all there, there's still so much more to work for, to try for.

There's respect and compassion and trust and trustworthiness and caring and forgiveness and patience and understanding and support and bravery and hurting and giving in and letting go and... so much more...

David and I could stay the same, but so much else needed to be different.

But thinking or saying those words meant nothing. Feeling it, knowing it, learning to hear it... that's always the hard part, isn't it?

The day sped on, and it was getting to the point where it was embarrassing to be sitting at a cafe all alone. But I needed to think, so I stay put. I was alone with my juice and somehow, it felt like a funeral.

Yoli wasn't even there with me. Is that a step forward, I wondered, or a step backward? It didn't matter, in the end.

Because I couldn't say anything to anyone this time. Wouldn't say anything. I kept it inside and thought about how I felt, how I really felt. About what I wanted and what things I needed in my life, what things made me happy.

I've been through it before, and I knew that when I left David I'd been miserable. That I missed him so much it *hurt*, that I wanted to be back with him more than anything else, that I was willing to overlook all the things I wished he wasn't, just to have all the things he really was.

I knew all that and I reminded myself of it constantly, although I kept asking whether I really wanted David as he was or if I just wished *I* could change and be satisfied with what I had. What we had.

I knew then that if I didn't get some of this shit off my chest, it's gonna sit there forever, and we end up where we were months ago, hidden from each other behind lies and pretending, not talking, not listening, not... accepting.

Looking at it now, the undercurrents were far more obvious than they had been at the time. Susana's reappearance. My worsening paranoia. The bisexuality issue. And from me, strongly, the sense that I felt I was on borrowed time - or at least, that my relationship with David was.

I'll be honest, I let who I thought I was get the better of me. I rushed things too soon, things got involved on an intense level very quickly, I had the desire to push forward and to hell with any complications. I recognize that this hurt our relationship, I recognized it all along and yet I was powerless to stop myself. And so the regrets were inescapable. But I don't think that I should have suffered the consequences that I have. In fact, when this pain came, I had a choice. I had a choice to forget, to make excuses, to fill myself with rage or to try and get David back. Or I had a choice to accept it, to choose to suffer, to choose to agonize, hour after hour, day after day, week after week. To let it engulf me and fill my world.

I hadn't understood, up to the last minute, why I was so fixated on remembering David's actions after I left. Now I realize: it had been signs of life in David's resistance to my bullshit. And it had only taken a really, really prick move on my part, leaving like that. But then, what did David's new actions of shrugging off my bullshit, yeah, okay, it was bullshit, such petty bullshit in the face of this sudden overwhelming shift in reality, a reality so fucked up that every little bit of it outlined more clearly the edges of this new and horrifying thing we were flying into, this brave new world? In the face of the jagged edges of this new Reality, all that bickering was just so much bullshit, dim and hazy bullshit. David fought all along to get me to understand that, that the bullshit I was so good at manufacturing wasn't worth the time it wasted. David had been fighting to get me to understand that. The one who knew, maybe even more after he got me back from Borja, that all of our crap was just that. Life is too short to waste the time.

Was this why David was a bit hesitant to move in with me at first? I obviously have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

What had been my intent all along? Was it to show him just how cruel the world was by being the face of that cruel world? To turn him away from his idealism, his belief in love, the belief in things important enough to fight for?

And what was the solution? To walk around with a helmet around our hearts because some asshole with issues can do damage? Was that my wisdom?

No, it wasn't anything that excusable.

Fuck. It was never a game with David. So why did he suddenly give up his position, when did he start playing my game? Was that what had been happening? Or was he waiting for me to finally get a clue, to figure that out, to join him in a world where words matched actions, matched intent? Why was I continually denying him points in a game that suddenly felt completely meaningless in this brave new world we'd been thrust into? My need to be on top, always in control, suddenly made ridiculous, worse than ridiculous, meaningless. I wasn't in control, I had never been in control. And now… I might have to live, knowing David thought I didn't really care. Not enough.

Yeah, David should have known better than to expect a whole bunch of nothing, actions that might mean anything at all. Because what did I give him? I might as well have said, _'Yeah, I'll give you nothing, no explanations, of intent or of feelings or of expectations, not expressions of anything. Let that be enough.'_ Always being kept at arm's length from the urge to create something bigger between us. And was he okay with that? No, no no no no. Things weren't right. Why would David think this was all right? Why was he allowing, encouraging me to believe this was all right, just giving into myself, my own past, my own bullshit so easily?

I knew why I had allowed it, though. It felt safe, it felt comfortable, it felt familiar. Those familiar feelings, all based on experience, all lies. The only feeling that I knew was true at that moment was the pain deep inside, in every cell, the pain at knowing that I might already have lost the most important thing in my life.

All the familiar words I normally told myself were wrong, totally out of place. Yesterday's words echoing back at me with a false ring that mocked everything, my entire life, everything I did and told myself was for the best. It wasn't for the best, not for me, not for David. I wasn't in control, I didn't know shit.

And was I only able to think of all of that, in solitude at a cafe bar, because I knew damn well the odds were I'd never have to deal with it at all anymore? Never have to solve this, never have to risk any bit of myself by trying to reach out with words, with more than just my mistakes and selfishness, instead of saying something to David, to reveal all that? Because I knew…

No. Nope, I didn't know anything.

Deep down I'd known, even then, what I was giving up, and known what it was costing David to let me go.

Was that what it would be? Ninety minutes of hell, of the implications of how badly I was fucking up, of how I needed to pay attention to someone else's sensibilities instead of my own, to just fucking listen and actually take seriously ideas outside of my own experience, for no good reason at all, to just take a leap of faith and not impose my own will on everything? Could I do that?

But David fucked it up. And I hated myself for believing that's the truth.

Because I fucked it up even more...

For seeing too much, for reading too much... into everything, into nothing.

But to admit all that, to really face it, would have meant accepting the fact that breaking up again was all my own decision, and the demise of our relationship all down to my choices.

I was frustrated and I hated it and I couldn't do it anymore and I didn't know why the fuck I did what I did or who I was and I needed something from David and I needed to get mad and tell him everything and I needed him to tell me how much I hurt him and I needed to feel guilty and bad and I needed to cry and let it out but I couldn't. I couldn't if I was the only one of us that it still meant anything to...

I couldn't, because I was scared that he might tell me things that I didn't want to hear...to shut up, to grow up, to get out of his life...

God, I couldn't do that. I would fucking die if he let me. I'd die inside, as a failure, to him, to me, to us. A failure...in learning to love, learning to change, learning to accept.

I wished I had the courage to deal with this shit as well as he did. I wished I could confront my fears, my pain, the anger, the fighting. I wished I could recognize them all for what they were and learn to live with them. I wished it was easy and satisfying to release, to force the barriers outward, to burn it to the ground, end of story. But when it came time to actually make some sort of assessment of what lay in the wake of the years, to actually let go, well...it did seem so easy at first. But now it all hurt, so much. Maybe too much.

The problem was, this was my problem. Not David's. And I was beginning to understand pretty much what my mother had been trying to tell me. David couldn't solve this for me. Sometimes, in my imagination, I'd see David outside of our relationship. It didn't matter how David treated me, per se. I didn't see it in those terms, with myself as the center of the universe, to form my judgments.

And through there, I could hope that David would realize that the good things I did were so much better than the selfish things.

I remember the first night we slept together. He just laid there in my bed, his head resting on the pillow like it was his own. I fell asleep with his eyes searching my face, and when I woke up, he was still staring at me. Eyes just focused on mine. When I stared back, he didn't flinch, didn't look away, didn't try to pretend he hadn't been staring.

He just kept looking at me.

I wondered if he'd slept at all. Wondered if he'd spent the whole fucking night staring at me.

And even now, even after all this time, he still does that sometimes. Some mornings, I open my eyes, and he's looking back at me. Smiling. And he never looks away.

But then again, some mornings I stare at him, watching him sleep. His soft features relaxed, with his lips parted, his perfect skin and hair resting on our bed.

When he's asleep, I can't see how much he's grown up. Can't see that dark slash of brown that's buried deep inside his gaze. Can't see the way he's sometimes nervous, sometimes scared, sometimes furious. Can't see the challenge, the obstinacy, the persistence, the anger, the pride, the... everything he's fucking got since he first came into my life.

Can't see the way he's changed.

The way things have changed him. Things like time. Me. Getting reality smashed into him by experience.

No. Can't see any of that.

Instead I see that kid... the one that drew me in, that I followed around with a stupid crush and a fucking mountain of expectations.

But I can't pretend he's that kid anymore. There have been apologies and confessions and angry words that can never be taken back.

There has simply been too much for him to ever be that person again.

And if I was being honest... and why the hell shouldn't I be honest, after all that's happened and is going to happen...

Maybe I would admit that I've grown up too, after all. That I'm not quite the prick I used to be.

The one that seems to have gotten a little lost lately.

Lost behind selfishness and dreams and bullshit concerns and a couple million fabulous fuck ups.

I tried to leave it behind and I couldn't. I tried to pretend I could walk away and I couldn't. I tried to make it be like it was before... and it just fucking wasn't.

No. I couldn't be that person anymore. Not now. Not right fucking now.

* * *

Some days, everything goes wrong. Just everything.

Just make him okay, I chanted to myself, in my head, over and over. Just let him be okay and I won't try to control him, or even myself, I won't play it so safe so much. Life isn't safe, isn't that the obvious point here? Please, God, don't take him away from me, don't be that cruel, don't leave us unfinished.

When there's nothing more anyone could do, when everyone was being held hostage and we were all just waiting outside, I knew I needed to go in there, go to David. Something was burning inside me, things were shifting and changing and coming together so quickly inside my head, my heart. Things were becoming so perfectly clear, so completely focused, and I knew I had to see him and I knew there were things I could do. Needed to do.

I loved him, wanted him, I'd die for him, that's all I could feel at that moment and I knew it in my own heart. Knew that when we come together this time, we'll never be apart again.

Have you ever done something reckless and stupid, just because you had this irrational faith that you'd end up okay? Because it happened just like that, with everything spinning around in a circle, and there I was, with David, back where we were hours ago. Back together, holding on to each other.

Back where shit made sense.

The hopelessness replaced with expectation, the sadness replaced with joy, the tears of goodbye replaced with tears of happiness and welcome.

Somehow, despite the chaos, everything felt so familiar. Feeling like that in Zurbarán, feeling like the first time and a thousand times after that, and I got a sense of nostalgia almost. Because of the shooting, I knew that the school might get shut down. I had a sense that maybe tomorrow I won't be able to come here and feel like this. That maybe next week this place will be gone, and the memories David and I have created here will be nothing more than that. That I'd never be able to come here again and pretend it's that first time, pretend I'm here dancing with Yoli or watching as Julio stripped in front of me while I was sitting on the stairs. I could pretend that it wasn't here that I felt my heart pounding with fear and shock when I heard that Rubén had jumped off his building, pretend that my palms weren't damp as I fought off my bullies after I came out, my cock hard and what felt like glitter raining down on me when David separated me from everyone else and kissed me here for the very first time, making my breath catch in throat. I won't be able to pretend that David's never hurt me in this place, that I'd never hurt him, won't be able to pretend that it's this year or the year before or even the year before that...won't be able to come here and pretend any of that because it could be gone...

But I was there then, and David's hands were around me, his warm palms stuck against my skin, slick with sweat, slippery and smelling faintly like cologne and heat, feeling his breath on my face and the tightness of his hold around me...

We were there, right then, dreading what could happen...wondering what could be left, what we had, and knowing that we've done everything we could for each other. In Zurbarán. Our place.

It's weird, you hear about guns and people having them at schools and at clubs and that there's shootings and crazy shit happening all the time. I mean, you watch movies and TV and it seems like people just have them and like it's no big deal, and that they don't really mean anything.

But to see one up close… was different than seeing one on TV. To look at this piece of metal and know it has the power to kill…

But it was also about the weight of what it symbolizes. The way it made everyone's faces just stop, the way everyone started sobbing the instant they saw it, the way my heart just started hammering when I heard that everyone was being held hostage by a man possessing it...when Toño had it pointed towards me.

Yeah, it's power. I could see what it was, understood where the emotion was coming from, knew that it was a complete false sense of security, because it did nothing to stop people from hating.

I knew I could say something about that. I'd lived through a hell of a lot in that school. I had a fucking boatload of shit I could lay bare. And I think I was able to process enough, to know how to use my experiences so that other people could understand what I'd learned and feel what I'd felt.

I could and I would.

I did.

Because I knew that you could overcome fear and hate by learning how to fight.

Because learning to fight had made me strong.

And being strong had made me more confident.

Becoming more confident had made me cockier.

Being cockier had made me say and do things I normally wouldn't.

Saying and doing things I normally wouldn't had provoked people to react to me in different ways.

People reacting to me in different ways had spawned some anger and admiration.

Anger and admiration had made me want to fight even more.

Fighting made me strong.

Had to wxplain to Toño that the outside world does exist...

With people who will hate you...

People who will try to hurt you...

People who will try to attack you...

People who will try to pull you apart...

People who will try to tell you that you're wrong...

People who will... try to love you...

We all need to deal with that world. We need to deal with it.

There was no more time to be wasted, no fucking around, no playing, no games, no emotions to hide. I said everything, told everyone the truth and didn't change a single thing. Thought about about everything I went through and when I looked at David, I was faced with a veil of expressions that depicted both love and remorse.

The same things that depicted our lives, us, all wrapped up into each other until there was no telling which belonged to whom.

Because David gave me confidence.

And I gave him pride.

He gave me strength.

As I gave him love.

And we couldn't give any of it back, ever again.

As each word tumbled out, with each tear I swallowed back, each wave of relief that passed through me that David was safe, that he was okay… everything became sharper and clearer and then it all shifted and changed a final time to come together so completely.

And as I laid there during those final moments, all I knew was that I was able to see David again, pulled him into my arms again, felt his hands come up around me again, and when he pressed his lips to mine and took a breath, nothing had ever seemed easier in my life. Nothing had ever seemed more important.

The kaleidoscope of my life, with all its spinning colors, suddenly stopped – everything fell into place and converged into this pure focused sensation, a single emotion in my heart, a complete and perfect feeling that defied all description…I only knew it's been there all along and yet it took that moment for it to all become so flawlessly clear.

I pulled back and looked at him, at David, saw the joy and terror in his eyes, felt the light in my heart, my mind, my soul. He was bright, glowing a thousand colors of love, and I smiled...wished I could get back all the wasted time, the wasted words, the things I could've and should've and would've been saying if only I knew it would feel like this.

Would feel so good, so perfect, so beautifully real.


	8. Echoes: David's POV

**A/N:** Okay, serious suspension of disbelief is required here, because unfortunately the writers of the show weren't fucking around when they decided to kill off Fer. They had him get shot directly to the heart. No leeway, no mercy, no getting around with it. If it happened in real life, Fer _would_ be dead. No ifs and buts about it. I studied various anatomy books, researched several gunshot heart wound cases, and interviewed my uncle who is a cardiologist (showed him the scene actually) and all my findings led to the conclusion that there's no way Fer could have lived. The location of the wound, the bullet caliber, the proximity between the gun and Fer, the strength and velocity of the shot, would make it impossible for anyone to survive.

That said, since I'm already tampering with canon, I decided to bypass any medical details/explanations, because I don't want to sound like patronizing or pretentious. Just be aware that in this fic, I have Fer's wound somewhere critical, though not necessarily irreversibly fatal. Somewhere in the chest, probably a couple of inches away from the original wound in canon (as my uncle advised would still be a major kick in the ass, but wouldn't necessarily kill Fer right away, especially since the paramedics and ambulance were already there), so...yeah.

I apologize. I know the medical side of the story deserves to be treated better. I completely half-assed it here, but please understand that the psychological/emotional introspection of the characters has been my main focus since the first chapter. Please bear with me.

* * *

**DAVID'S POV**

In an instant, I suddenly became a different person.

Too much was happening. Everything was changing. And nothing will ever be the same again.

Time seemed to stand still for an instant before resuming at a rate much slower than would be considered normal. Below layers of frozen shock and disbelief, a thousand images, a thunder of pain, my heart threatening to rip through my chest, hot white light flooding my brain...it all rushed around me as I heard someone screaming, while someone else was weeping, though the only sound that meant anything to me was that of mine telling Fer over and over and over, "I love you I love you I love you," as he laid there drowning in his blood. His life kept flashing before my eyes.

And then, it all stopped as Fer looked up at me and smiled.

Smiled.

Then he stopped breathing.

And my mind went blank.

* * *

My head was pounding, hands were pulling at me, trying to separate me from Fer, but I refused to let go. I could feel my strength ebbing as they pulled me away from the person I'd always tried so hard to protect. I closed my eyes against the blinding pain in my head, but the vision of Fer's unresponsive face was etched in my mind, determined to torment me forever. "Please," I whispered. "Fer…"

The ambulance's siren became nothing but white noise as I knelt on the ground, hardly able to drag myself one more step.

They didn't think he was going to live.

I knew that somehow, no matter what, I wouldn't either.

* * *

What do you do when the things you most want to remember are the very same things you want desperately to forget?

Like marble slowly freezing my tissues, my stomach was violently churning under the vice of memory from another day when Fer and the thought of death had been all there was. My lungs, suddenly unable to draw air. My flesh, tissues immobilized, painfully squeezing my heart. I couldn't breathe.

"I'm pushing it, David, you'll be there real soon." Xavi glanced back at me, my hands clenched to stop their trembling, the shaking that seemed to be originating somewhere in my marrow.

Then soon enough the emergency room, starkly white, a furiously lit entrance against the darkness of the night, and hadn't I been there before? A room where you can watch people die, a room where teams of doctors and nurses moved mountains to keep a person alive.

The furious slow motion swirled around me. I looked up and saw Fer's parents right inside the doors. His mother screamed at the sight of him, her hands covering her face. The thick glass between us should have kept me from hearing her, but I did.

It sounded just like the silent scream in my head.

After stabilizing him for a bit, they came to transport him to the OR, and I felt another surge of panic. One of the doctors told us what to expect. Told us that after some operations to fix what needed fixing, they were going to induce Fer into a coma. He phrased it just like that, clinical, emotionless, like you might expect some dust on your table when you return home from vacation, like you can expect phone calls from telemarketers during dinner.

I knew that Fer wasn't breathing on his own, that the tubes sticking out of his body were hooked up to every machine that could do it for him. That they were simply buying him time that might be already gone.

Through the tears, I almost laughed. The whole thing was pretty fucking hilarious. The kind of thing that made me undoubtedly certain of the existence of God, because it all tasted distinctly of judgment. I indulged myself in thinking how fitting a chapter it was in the David Ferrán and Fernando Redondo's epic love story. We got back together at the last minute and were on our way to trying to figure out how to make things work, I mean, to really make it work, and right as we took it around the first bend in the road, bang! Gunshot. How perfectly, perfectly scripted.

I felt bitter, angry disappointment that the fates or whomever-the-fuck was writing our shit couldn't see their way clear to giving us a goddamned fucking break. It felt as if the whole universe seemed to be determined to make sure Fer and I got absolutely no pleasure out of our relationship for too long.

I mean, shit. Fer and I got together. We broke up. He took me back. Then we imploded. I hung on during his little Borja adventure. I kept offering myself back on the table. They almost got married. I almost killed myself because of it. We took each other back again. I tried not to feel like second prize. I tried to shrug aside the feeling, the fear, that if Borja had been more selfish, things might have not worked out, that Fer would never have come back to me. I tried to keep …

Alright, there'd been times when we'd both been total assholes. I knew that. But we were fucking trying. I was trying to believe everything was going to work out despite everything. And all I got …

Well, mainly, I got Fer. And that was enough for me.

But this one was different. Would Fer survive this?

I didn't want to deal with those thoughts. I couldn't.

Because when Fer looked at me just after he got shot, while he was choking from his blood and struggling to get out the words he wanted to say, as he gave me that smile before he closed his eyes…it felt too fucking much like goodbye.

I didn't want my life to go on after that.

So no, I couldn't deal with it.

"It's okay," I whispered, too quietly for the words to matter to anyone but me. "It's okay, it's okay." I whispered the mantra until I could no longer hear the wheels of the gurney rolling along the linoleum floor.

Every time we'd get past some milestone, every time we jumped through some fucking hoop, I'd think, _'Okay, now it gets better. Now it gets easier. Now we'll be okay.' _And the next thing you know, you're standing in some brightly lit hospital, imagining your boyfriend's pale, wasted body as a machine breathes for him because his own lungs aren't capable of doing it on their own.

Wasn't it enough that Fer and I survived different kinds of drama? Didn't we pay our dues when we had to struggle through all the heartbreak again and again? What the fuck, now Fer had to be literally, physically destroyed? When the hell would it be enough?

"It's okay, it's okay," I whispered to myself.

Did Fer think my school projects would work themselves out? Did he have any idea that nearly every day I'd have to endure teachers and classmates asking me how my boyfriend was doing? Could he comprehend how much I would hate that? Did he appreciate the fact that when I got home there would be fifty fucking messages on our answering machine - all asking about him - that I'd have to return? Did he think my sanity and patience were infinite in their breadth and generosity?

They're not.

As I leaned against the door and watched that machine forcing air in and out of his lungs, I tried to tamp down on the rising bitterness. Finally I pushed off and leaned against the glass window, my lips forming words that nobody else could hear. "Listen, Fer, you even *think* about checking out on me, and I swear I will follow you into hell, strap you down and make you watch me fuck every tall, dark, muscle-bound stud I can find."

Angrily, I brushed at my wet cheeks, "You can't leave me. You just...can't."

* * *

Could you get a good night's sleep when the love of your life just got shot in the fucking chest? Could you ever just collapse into your own head without a thousand horrible thoughts flying through your brain?

I tried to, I really did, but when I closed my eyes there was just a loud bang and Fer was on the floor and the world was ending and the siren was blaring in my ears.

The school had been attacked. Some fucking kid had tried to kill people. Fer had been shot.

Fer was gonna be fine.

I wouldn't be doomed to this life. Fer would be okay.

I tried to convince myself of that, but I'm not sure that I could hold things together. I wanted to run away, throw myself down the stairs, lock myself in the fucking bathroom, hide in a closet. Something. I could feel myself shutting down, felt the dread suffocating me. How the fuck has anyone before me handled this?

I decided to get the hell out of there, and as I did, I saw Román following me.

The next thing I know, I was screaming at the top of my lungs. "This is fucking shit! Fucking SHIT! What the fuck do you want from us? When is it enough?!"

Román caught up with me and as I caught sight of him, I said, "Jesus, Román, I know the world's a fucked up place, all right? I know it, but don't you think it's enough? He's fucking had enough, hasn't he?"

Román nodded and I felt huge waves of tears flood my eyes. "You hear that?" I shouted at the sky. "Do you fucking hear that? It's enough, God damn it! It's enough so leave us the fuck alone! Leave him alone!" My throat was getting sore, but I didn't care.

"What were all our other drama about? Seriously, what the fuck were they all about if we just have to go through something like this? Who's making this shit up?!" I exhaled and shrugged at my next thought.

I looked back at Román and felt a full-blown meltdown coming on. "This is nowhere close to what we had in mind, Román. God, I feel like I fight and fight and…I don't know what else to do. I mean, how do you try harder at this shit? I thought I was trying, but, what the fuck is this now?! What can I…"

"David, no!" Román interrupted with a steely determination in his voice. "None of this is your fault. Sometimes shitty things happen. And you don't cause them, and you can't fix them. All you can do is fucking survive them!"

I just stared at him, and then the pain cut in and spilled through my voice, turning the words to sharp-edged knives. "I want you to tell me where I'd be right now if Fer wasn't here! How someone else could be standing here and handling all this crap! You tell me, Román, where the hell would those little fucking shits be, Jon and Toño and Álvaro, if Fer wasn't here, gutting out this fucking bullshit lame ass fucking shit! How would this be going, Román, huh? Tell me! I want you to fucking tell me how someone else could be handling this shit if Fer wasn't the one fighting for his life here!"

Román stayed silent, and roaming around like a demented host, I whispered, "But when he wakes up at least we'll be back together, right?" I paused, considering. "I'm sure everyone would tell me to find some fucking silver lining. Okay, I'll take that one. I won't ask for much, just keep him alive and that's all there will be to it. That's all I want, goddamit, to stop feeling like I've missed a step here, like we had it all and then lost it, that this thing between us that was infuriating and delicate and so fucking beautiful will be dead any time now, irreversibly ruined."

Begging was pathetic. I wasn't even sure who I was talking to anymore, whether Román, or God, or myself.

* * *

I remember going into the restroom and seeing my reflection in the mirror, not understanding who I was seeing. He looked nothing like me. I couldn't understand how the reflection showed nothing of what I was feeling. I knew I was alive because I could feel my pulse, could hear my heart beat when I closed my eyes, but I couldn't understand how my heart could still be beating when all the rest of me felt so dead.

* * *

The days afterward made life feel like it had two speeds - it was either tearing along at a million miles an hour or it was slowed to an absolutely endless crawl. It was night after night of terror and dread, and morning after morning of frustration and loss.

The news spread quickly and soon enough, our old friends started arriving. Before I knew it, there was that silent and supportive regard of other people that didn't terrify me, the way that support had been moved into place without my knowledge, there at my back, not just telling me but enacting the fact that I didn't have to stand alone, because it was quietly assumed that I was already part of something bigger than just myself. I was a part of a bigger reality, of that world that Fer had lived in, of that thing that somehow became an 'us'. What happened to Fer happened to me. Everyone seemed to just get that, and they treated me with the care I tried hard not to drive away, lifted a control I thought I needed to keep to myself, the illusion of a control I didn't really have. And thank God it had been taken from me, so I could focus on other important things, namely, keeping my shit together so I could be there when Fer woke up. When...when he woke up.

My parents were there, too, their faces filled with concern, not just for me, but for Fer as well. A support center that I didn't really expect after everything that went on between us.

But there came a time when it all got to be too much, even though everything was just a smudge of sound against the thundering silence in my own head.

I went outside, just staring off into the night. Into nothing. I leaned on the railing and watched the horizon, recalling the day Fer and I got together. The day that restarted everything and neatly divided my life into two categories: Before and After.

I felt another line being drawn, inching inexorably forward.

"David," Julio was beside me, although I didn't hear him coming.

"Is everyone here?" My voice was raw and sounded like someone else's.

"Yeah, they're inside. You should come in."

I shook my head. "I can't do it."

"David..."

"I can't watch Fer die."

A small sob escaped Julio and he took a shuddering breath.

His voice was clear and didn't waver. "David, it's not too late. There's still hope."

I remembered how still Fer laid on that hallway floor, how none of my hopes could wake him up.

"David..." Julio pulled me towards the door. "Come on."

I stepped off into his arms, and I whispered, "Do you think he's afraid?"

Julio put both his hands on my shoulders. I broke down, and he let me almost strangle him, my chin digging painfully into his chest. After a while, he pushed away and took a long look at my face. Taking a deep breath, he gripped hard on the sides of my face, and reminded me of the one thing he knew would penetrate whatever wall I was behind: "David, whatever happens, right now he needs you."

I blinked, and he must have seen a lot of things in my eyes, because he let go. I took in one long, shuddering breath, and as I nodded, I let him give me a gentle shove towards the door, back to Fer.

* * *

I was sore, I was tired, I was angry. I was surprised I wasn't going out of my mind. Or maybe I was. Because it was around that time I started having The Dream.

I'd had the same dream again and again. And it always ended just the same fucking way.

Through the whole dream was woven a sense of dread, of terror of something that lay beyond. Each time I'd see myself standing for just a minute on a railing, or a ledge, or a cliff. Then down I'd fall, in that horrible sickening way that people do in dreams, but unlike most dreams, the fall wouldn't lead to my waking. No, I'd go on dreaming; dream of hitting the ground and sinking deep under it. I'd feel the soil choking me, filling my nostrils, my mouth, finally my lungs. Although I'd try to reach for the surface, some force would seem to drag me down and down, all the while feeling as if my heart would burst from the efforts to fight free.

Then suddenly, the earth would release its hold, and I would feel myself lifted, elevated almost effortlessly, able to breathe freely and easily again. Then I would suddenly find myself above the surface, my body swaying in a gentle motion. I'd stumble to my feet as strong arms wrapped around me, and I would flood with a feeling of indescribable happiness. I'd turn and look into the eyes of the man who held me, the one, I'd realize, whose hand had been clasping mine all the time that I'd fought underneath the ground. I'd know that we'd fought it together and that it had been the power of our combined strength which brought me safely through the ordeal.

And every time I'd reach this point of the dream, the sight of those eyes would grip my heart with wonder because those eyes would be the most beautiful I'd ever seen. Brown was too simple a word to describe it; they were a wonder of color - myriad shades of black and brown lit by flecks of gold. But their real beauty didn't lie in their color, or even their shape. No, their true beauty was in their expression, in the depth of feeling that lay behind them. If eyes really were the windows to the soul, then Fer had the most beautiful soul I'd ever known.

He would smile at me and bend his head, seeking my lips.

And every fucking time, right at that moment, I'd wake up; sweating with remembered terror and shaking with desire. I'd wake up every single time and Fer was…

...not there.

* * *

I leaned forward in the stiff, plastic, hospital chair, straining for just one sigh...just one syllable, but Fer remained silent. The whirring of the machines, the steady beep of the heart monitor, were the only sounds that I could hear. Not his voice. Not his laugh. Not the husky way he moaned my name into my mouth.

I clutched the side of his bed...saw the gun swinging through the air, watched him crash to the ground again and again and again. I swore for a few long minutes. Every word I knew. And then said something that might be "I can't lose you"...or maybe "I love you."

Either way, it's the same thing.

Either way, it was true.

* * *

There were times I'd wake up in Fer's hospital room not even remembering where the fuck I was. Maybe sometimes I got too caught up with the fear and the grief. The trauma. Yet somehow I always managed to come back to myself. Being in there everyday, watching over Fer like some demented, clipped-wing guardian angel, kept me back from the edge.

But Yoli and Román had other ideas.

"David, you can't keep living like this." Román said.

I exhaled slowly. "Like what?"

"Like this. You never eat, you hardly sleep. You've barely left the hospital."

"Where should I be going?"

"Home? School? David, we all…we all know how hard this is for you."

"No, you don't."

"Okay, we don't." Yoli got in front of me and stopped, looking at me pleadingly, her voice quiet. "But we all...we all love Fer. And I can't imagine what you're feeling, as hard as I might try. But you can't go on like this..." Her voice was thick, eyes glistening. She looked at me with untold sadness as she gently wrapped her hands around my arms, pulling me close.

I leaned my head against her, but after a shuddering breath, I straightened up and looked at her. "I'm fine. He's not gone."

"David," Olimpia was suddenly there. "You're on the verge of physical and emotional collapse. You have to stop."

"Stop what?" I answered blanky.

"All of this. Go somewhere quiet and sleep for a couple of weeks."

"Don't be crazy."

She hesitated. "David, I know that your love for Fer is a very compelling emotion for you, but your obsession is not helping anyone. Not Fer, and especially not you. Step back."

"I can't." My voice was flat.

"You need to."

"Seriously, Olimpia, I CAN'T."

Fer's mom came at that moment and finally convinced them to leave. She said she'd deal with me, that they shouldn't worry. She waved them away effectively, probably as much for her benefit as mine.

When I woke up in the morning, she was there. She didn't say a word at first, just kissed my forehead. Then tears slid down her cheeks as she said, "No matter what happens, David, we'll always be here. We love you very much."

I wanted so badly to tell her the same, but couldn't find my voice.

* * *

During the whole ordeal, I found a kindred spirit in, of all fucking people, Gorka.

"David."

I was pulled out of my reverie by the sound of his voice. "Yeah?" I straightened up in my chair, joints and muscles protesting.

"Come on, let's go for a walk."

It was dark, and I wasn't sure how long I've napped. "No, I'm good."

"Come on, you must be dying for a cigarette."

Well, I couldn't argue with that, so I let Gorka lead the way outside. There were extensive grounds with paths and benches, and I ambled along, sweet nicotine filling my lungs.

After a while, I asked him, "Do you know how badly this whole bravery in the face of total shit makes me want to puke?"

"Really badly, I know." he said, exhaling smoke.

Suddenly, my mind flashed back to the time when Marcos almost destroyed everything. Not just my relationship with Fer, but the lives of other people around us. I still have the memory of Gorka's face as Fer and I wrestled him off of Marcos, remembered how he looked during that moment of raw rage and sheer terror when he was so determined to murder the man who almost killed Paula and their baby.

I took a breath and forced that all back into the inner pit of fire that bubbled in me, the not-so-happy place where so many hurts and regrets lived.

Gorka didn't offer any bullshit words of comfort. Neither did he pester me to go the fuck home or take some rest or eat something, and that alone meant more to me than anything. He was the only one who really seemed to understand. When I told him that I was sick of everyone tiptoeing around, mouthing clichés, he said, "Fuck 'em. What do they know, David? Not a damn thing."

* * *

Borja visited once in a while.

No denying that he was a part of Fer's life, somewhere on the map, at some point, fitting into some place that has no name anymore but was there, existing, cannot be done without or forgotten. By then I was already numb and so used up, but we treated each other civilly. He was respectful and careful not to impose, and I answered his questions honestly, gave him news about any changes, and just generally tried my best not to think about the possibility that if I didn't fuck up their wedding, then maybe all these shit would never have happened. I tried to push it out of my mind as hard as I could, but there came some days when seeing Borja would just be too much, and then I'd be forced to turn around and hightail it out of there.

* * *

Sun shone through windows that lined the entire far wall of Fer's room. I slept on the chair and my arm felt funny after falling over the side and hanging there all night. I stood up and stretched for a minute, taking in the single floor lamp next to the chair. It reminded me of Fer for some reason.

Went downstairs to the cafeteria and saw Cova, sitting Indian style on a chair with a steaming cup of coffee. Her hair was wet and she was just wearing a pair of sweats. She looked comfortable. I wanted to be comfortable, too.

She turned around and watched me cross over to her. "Julio's with Román. They're went to your place to pick up some clothes for you." She smiled at me as I fumbled with the paper cup with steel rocketship apparently brewing coffee as decoration. I joined her at the table after taking a sip.

"What time is it?" I wondered where my watch was.

"Mmmm, close to 7." She nodded at the window as if she's telling the time by the sun's position in the sky. Of course, Cova was just the type to be able to actually do that.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" I blurted out the question, though it didn't seem to surprise her.

"I do," she nodded. She watched her coffee for a minute, but when she looked up and her eyes met mine, I could tell she meant it.

"Good," I nodded too.

* * *

The elevator lurched upward and took me closer as dread coiled through my body. For the first time since the incident, the first time in weeks, I was going to spend the night at the flat. There had been much discussion between the hospital staff and my parents and Fer's parents about how I wasn't supposed to be living at the hospital anymore.

It was an agony to be back in there. It was the place I found for us, to make Fer happy, to seal my fortunes with him—once and for all. But although it occurs that most people would be relieved to be at home, all the brick and wood and drywall would never be the same. A voice said that maybe one day it will, maybe one day the pain wouldn't be the only thing in my life.

I doubted it.

Alone, I wandered around in the darkness, avoiding the bedroom for as long as possible. I remembered what it was like when Fer first left after the bisexuality drama, how everything seemed bare and empty and wrong. But at least then I knew we would get back together. Somehow.

Sure, I tried to be as pessimistic as possible, went as far as planning to move away to a different town, but deep down, I knew that nothing could ever keep Fer and I apart for very long.

But that was then.

Looking around, I saw the scrapbook. As I glanced down at the plethora of pictures, I felt faintly aware of my connection to them, but too numb to remember how.

Nothing's static, I thought, turning the pages one at a time. Photo is static, a captured image in time, preserved memory that never moves. Life is never static. Neither was Fer.

As I looked more, I began to remember how hard we had to fight — with each other, with the world, with our own insecurities and imperfections — to have that little slice of happiness that so many people take for granted. Then I realized that maybe it was worth more, maybe it was stronger, because we had to fight so hard for every little thing.

The silence was overwhelming as I finally went to bed, rubbing my forehead and burying myself in the pillow to block out the noise that wasn't there, to hide from the light from the lightless room.

* * *

The damn tears were drowning me, that _thing_ behind the tears was swallowing me whole. I was overwhelmed by a sense of needing to give up to something, to someone, to just let go, but I straightened and reminded myself that not one of those was a solution. And certainly, there was no excuse to not be strong, as strong as I could be until I knew that Fer didn't need me anymore. If I gave in, if I lost control in any way, if I gave up, Fer would die. It was that simple. That thought had allowed me to act and distract myself in acting, and that felt better than waiting, better than waiting and not knowing.

Eventually, I settled into what seemed like a _Twilight Zone_ remake of my past: seeing my parents, going to school, hanging out with friends. I went through the motions of life just like I had during those years that's hazy in my mind and really just identified as The Time Before Fer Arrived, but it wasn't the same. For as much as things looked similar, under the surface, the world seemed off and a little less real. I was suffering a great deal, but my general surroundings were still too cheery and warm and oblivious to my expanded understanding of the world, one in which everything felt like a watered down de-caffeinated version of my life: less novelty, less adventure, no sugar added. No laughter, no love.

No Fer.

Some days were bad, but most days weren't even worth mentioning. There weren't great days, just dull moments that were over almost before they began. And I was just this boy who sat around each and every one of those days waiting and waiting and God help me, none of it was the last time, no matter what I wanted to say or think or do.

I walked in endless circles, wandering around like a disgruntled dog, my eyes fixed on everything yet finding nothing. As I kept walking through the halls, staring at the empty spaces where Fer's life used to be, everything suddenly seemed like a _subliminal _message determined in reminding me that something was definitely missing.

After a while, I started indulging in the idea that Fer might surprise me one day and wake up out of the blue or drop out of the sky. Sometimes I'd even think I could see him out of the corner of my eye while I was crossing the parking lot or walking back home. But it's not that I expected Fer to be walking around or to be anything but the man still lying in some hospital ICU room. It was just a silly thought that surfaced in my head sometimes, and then I'd shove it down and tell myself that he wasn't really there, that I didn't need to drive myself any crazier or make myself suffer any more than I already was.

Everything had changed, and in this mock-stasis, a bubble-sphere that pounded and writhed like a living thing, I felt unsettled and slightly out of touch, almost detached. I tried to ground myself, allowed friends to look after me as I tried to retain whatever knowledge that Fer had implanted in my brain from the day we met.

Doing so put my default reaction under control, that anger through which I channeled every other emotion I wasn't equipped to deal with. That, or I just smoked and drank until I didn't give a shit.

I think I know how to illustrate this point. When people saw me those days, there was no way they could know all of my thoughts and all of my actions and they only imagined that maybe the amount of pain and terror I was feeling all totaled up had led to a lot of desensitization to the subject. They couldn't hear the constant screaming inside me. They couldn't see the new way I looked at the world, how it felt to be thrust into a new and emptier reality that I never chose, one in which I had to redefine a lot of things. It was also impossible to imagine the way that kind of misery could seem like an eternity to the person suffering them. Even reflecting on it now, my brain just can't really visualize it in any sort of useful way.

The days melted into weeks, and I knew I needed to snap out of the tired daze, that state of hypnosis that had me fumbling through each day without ever really living. My emotions were on some fucking roller coaster that never seemed to end. I was either crazy fucking insane, desperate for human contact trying way too hard to pretend like nothing happened, wallowing in misery, or more irritable than I ever imagined I could be or just plain fucking mean. Everything everyone did was pissing me off. The way they were breathing, the way they were moving. I fucking argued with everyone about everything and was a huge dick to people about shit I didn't even really care about, and I couldn't turn it off.

There were some positive things. I don't want to talk about them because I hate the fuck out of those things because they never would have happened if Fer didn't get shot.

Eventually, there came a time when I became too edgy (disoriented/confused), the attacks of grief leaving me mentally and emotionally compromised, until I couldn't connect the intense grief to any actual memories of Fer anymore. I think deep down, some part of me believed that maybe it would be easier to just forget, then do my best dealing with whatever else was left. Though what else was there, really?

Everyday I tried to remember what it was like to hold Fer and I couldn't. Whenever I tried, I just got a barrage of memories and sensation of what he felt like unmoving. By the way, if this sort of thing ever happens to you, just a bit of advice here: get really really selfish, and don't fucking hold his breathless body, and don't fucking smell his hair, or kiss his lips. Don't even look at him if he's lying in his own blood. You will never be able to forget that shit and you need to be able to remember the good stuff without all of that horrible stuff getting in the way. Otherwise, they would double loop back in your mind again and again and leave you hanging upside down, contemplating a jump from a hundred stories up.

I couldn't remember Fer as he was anymore. All I could remember was the feeling...that sense of utter loss, of anguish, of desperation... that drives a man to do such a thing.

To kill himself.

Never had the balls to go through with it myself.

Not that I never thought about it...

Not that I never tried...

God knows I've thought about it. Considered it. Fantasized about it and wished it and imagined it and pretended it had happened.

Drank too much alcohol and smoked too much weed and thought about standing at the edge of tall buildings, wondering if God could push me off this time.

Did those sort of stupid things, just tempting fate.

But...despite it all, I knew that I didn't really want to die.

But I didn't really want to live.

I was just waiting for Fer to fucking wake up.

Waiting and holding my breath, wondering if I could die like that.

* * *

Night after night, I started having these other dreams. A fucking lot of lucid, mind wrenching, in my face revelations. Nightmares, really. Indescribable ones, with things I refused to either identify or put words to. Stuff like coming back home after attending Fer's funeral, crying on our bed, clutching his shirt. Or making out with some random dude who maybe, just almost kind of looked like Fer. I'd dream about throwing all of Fer's things away, like that was totally normal. I'd emerge out of some party, hung over, high as shit, totally wiped out and even more desperately depressed, all signs of Fer's life vanished. There was nothing to remind me, no visual sign at all to stir up the crushing pain.

Yoli was always there, and I'd think, 'here we go again.' I never knew what she was expecting me to do or say. She always expected me to have a reaction, some emotion or feeling that I just didn't have the courage to face, and then got pissed when I didn't. Like I was supposed to think about how Fer would want me to respond and then make damn sure that I act in accord to that each and every time? Fuck that shit, she ought to know better already.

...yeah, stuff like that.

Those nightmares would leave me feeling as if I was being pushed to the side of my own life. Exhausted, not ready to face a real world that reminded me that Fer was still hovering between life and death. Each time, I would wake certain with the knowledge that Fer was dead, that he has slipped away while I wasn't looking. Part of me would want to rush up to Fer's side and find out the worst, but the other part of me just wanted to hide, wanted to stay still and close my eyes until everything went away.

* * *

One night, I didn't sleep at all, afraid of which dream will come. Fer looked as he always did, and for a moment I drank in the sight, his chest rising and falling evenly. Anger and fear swirled in the pit of my stomach, and my fists clenched.

If I'd never met him, life would have stayed so fucking much simpler.

"Get up." My voice was loud in the quiet of the room. "Wake the fuck up." Then I was shouting, pounding the mattress. "Wake up, Fer! Open your fucking eyes!"

The words poured out, and soon a nurse was there, trying to calm me down. Minutes later, Julio arrived, assuring the nurse and closed the door behind her.

"David, it's okay." He approached slowly, tone soothing.

"No, it's not!"

"David, Fer wouldn't want—"

"It's all the same."

"What is?"

"Zurbarán. The world. It's all the fucking same."

"Some things don't have to change." He reached out, but I retreated.

"Everything has to change!"

"David—"

"Don't you see? Don't you see how easy it would be?"

"How easy what would be?"

"To forget him! I could go home or back to school and be drunk and high and fucked out of my mind and everything would still be normal. But it's not! It never will be." I sank to my knees, the fight draining away as the truth settled in, heavy and irrevocable. "I would have done anything for him."

Julio's arms were strong, his body warm as sobs wracked my body. "You did. You did everything, David. You did everything."

Suddenly, I really wanted to know if good times with Fer had been worth all of this shit. Would the fact that Fer didn't instantaneously die give all of us some kind of inner strength that could make this whole mess redeemable in some way?

What could I possibly glean from all of it? How the fuck would it help me make sense of some asshole guys swinging a rifle in front of Fer? How would that make it any easier to walk in a world that didn't give a fuck that it ever even happened?

Before Fer, I had everything for the taking. My life was grace, oblivious, untouchable. I went to school, had fun, I fucked, broke up with people and never looked back. I played things too fast and lived to feel. Then Fer latched on, and I held on. I wanted to stay with him, with his shiny personality and open humanity. That's why I fell for him in the first place. I saw him and I fucking knew I had to be with him, had to love and need him.

There'd been times when we tried to throw each other off because it was part of the way things worked, but also because knew that we'd have to be more of a bastard than we were to want to intentionally hurt each other again and again.

Suddenly thinking about our relationship in that context, I was forced to imagine that maybe we were always destined to end that way, with Fer flying off into the sunset and leaving me behind with my demons, and quite possibly a good share of his.

Above, the machines beeped and whirred, uninterrupted.

* * *

A million years ago, Fer filled up every place in my sight and mind. He was intense and sharp, almost painful. Our time together had been so all-encompassing that I thought I would never forget how it had felt. Not just the emotions, but the very touch of Fer's hands, the sound of his voice, the smell of his hair, the heat of his kisses.

But already the memories were fading away. I was forgetting a lot of things. A part of me wanted to fall apart, everyday, every time, just to try and hold on to the memory of Fer's touch, the way he kissed my forehead affectionately, the way he smiled at me with that goofy, adoring look on his face — but I couldn't. A part of me knew that holding on to those memories would fix nothing.

I couldn't even remind people how much I loved him anymore. Not without feeling like the most miserable person in the history of the world. Even when I said it in the privacy of my room to a photograph of him, my ears started to burn. I kept looking at pictures and videos of us — I used to think that doing so could prove how much I still loved him, revering every inch of him, so as not to forget him. I wanted to find ways to remind myself that there were things only Fer and I will ever share, have ever shared, but I couldn't remember anymore. Somehow, those pictures and videos could only do so much, and they didn't mean the same thing anymore.

I always was a person who gave everything of himself, and when I was with Fer, I was with him, denied him nothing. I think back on our first time, climbing up on his bed, the intensity, the wildness of it, the desperation, as we gave everything to each other. I could feel it beginning, the indescribable, overwhelming feeling rising from deep within, and I tore at his hair and pulled his face firmly to mine and kissed him hungrily, kissed his lips, his chin, his cheeks, his closed eyes, mumbled his name brokenly, chanted it in my last moment of sanity. I allowed this other man inside me, gave myself to him in a way that I'd never done with anyone but Fer.

Through all this, though, I'd somehow perfected the art of distancing myself from things, of spiriting myself away when blows landed, but if I could ever try to forget all our good times together, even when I knew I still loved Fer with all my heart and soul, did my loving him still mean anything at all?

I still hoped. Some part of me was hoping that something would finally rip the veil from my eyes and reveal a face of Fer that my grieving side had refused to look at, a side only visible through an emotional focus that I did not allow myself to indulge in. But was I so stupid as to forget such pain because the part of me that loved Fer as Fer, not necessarily Fer as Fer/David, insisted on refusing to acknowledge my memories of Fer my lover?

Although it's funny; I'd hidden from it for so long, but it still found me, right at the place where I'd been trying to pretend that none of it ever happened. To pretend that everything was okay. Well, as okay as it could be when all the parts of me that mattered were stretched to the breaking point, to the screaming point. It's so ironic that the final face off with reality came at the place where I'd been trying to burrow down into memories and dreams and never let reality in through the door. But it's found me all the same.

In other words, I had a dream of Fer and I finally saying goodbye. Or at least that's how it felt like.

At first, I didn't really believe it was him, although there was no mistaking the hair and the smile, not when I'd lived with it for months and remembered the shining, glorious taste of both. I wondered what could have prompted such an act of apparition, and a part of me wished that it was something that could deliver him back into my arms for real.

No, I'll never be over him at all.

I was willing not to let the pain show. I couldn't let Fer down. I had to be able to do it. I had to let him go easily; calm and clear and guilt-free. I had to be able to say goodbye.

Fer's kisses aren't like other people's kisses. They're not just a random mashing of lips and tongues and teeth, used simply as a precursor to sex. They're not perfunctory or mechanical or meaningless. They say things. They talk to me. And in that moment I knew what he was trying to tell me: '_You have to hold on. No matter what happens, you have to hold on.'_

Then, in the impossible way things happen in dreams, I had flashes of our memories drilling their way through my skull, moving over and around each other. A snap history of all I knew of Fer, zooming past like a missile intent with all of its hopes and sweetness and devastation. I suppose it figured that once I'd stopped chasing the memories, they had just crept up on me, settling lightly into my brain, like they had never gone away. And while I heaved and struggled and fought to clasp those moments forever, somehow that kiss told me all the things that I needed to know.

I understood for the first time that my recurrent dreams of me leaping into the ground, and all that followed it, hadn't been driven by fear, but by hope. It wasn't so much a desperate, seemingly doomed attempt at escape.

It was a rescue.

I kept my eyes closed while the rest of my body felt like Fer's flesh was everywhere around me, like his blood was rushing through me. Like his heart was in my chest, and it burned and ached.

Then I somehow forgot everything, forgot how I was supposed to feel, how I'd been trying not to feel, and just…felt. Fer's body pressed to mine, his hands on my shoulders, his breath against my face. I let him hold me, let myself be held, and let out the breath I've been holding since I saw Fer walk up to Toño those many weeks ago.

The whole time, I could feel what he felt - all the peace and the hope and the love, god, the love. I saw myself through his eyes - beautiful, pure, and eternal, like an element. Likewise, I hoped that he could feel what was in me. I hoped that he knew how good he was in my heart.

And in that same voice, soft, filled with relief and even joy, Fer whispered, "Thank you."

Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore. Not the pain, not the loneliness there would be once he was gone again. Once I've had to let him leave again. Nothing. Only that moment. And as he pulled away afterwards, I heard his soft whisper in my ear again, in a voice in which pain and despair struggled with a desperate hope, "You have to hang on."

So I did.

* * *

"You know what I do when I feel like shit?" Román asked.

Silence.

"I just indulge it. I turn the lights off and listen to music that's, you know, moody and melancholic, and get high and pretend I'm at the end of a film. Then it feels good to feel like shit. It feels like… art."

I closed my eyes and imagined. Camera closing in on my face, mood music, a tragic hero, roll credits, nothing else to deal with. Two dimensional technicolour misery, artistic and simple.

Román produced a joint, ready rolled, from somewhere. Lit it, passed it to me and rolled across the floor towards the stereo. I heard him shifting through the CDs and a moment later, music flooded the apartment.

"Fucking hell, Román. The Aladdin soundtrack isn't melan-fucking-cholic."

"Some of it is. When they're flying on the carpet."

"Fuck you. Fuck you so much. Turn it off."

"You own it."

"The fuck I do. It's yours."

"It's not." I couldn't summon up the energy to argue. If the Aladdin soundtrack was in our apartment, maybe I did own it. Or maybe Fer did. Who the fuck knew what was real anymore?

"So, what film exactly are we in right now?"

"A Disney film," said Román.

"They don't smoke pot in Disney films." _Though characters do die from gunshots._

"Guess they do in this one."

I breathed out smoke and watched it float towards the ceiling, pretending I was in the darkest fucking Disney film ever and okay, yeah. That felt a little better.

In case Román started thinking that this was a good idea and it was helping, I asked, softly, "So...what happens to Fer at the end of this film? Is he gone?" The filter's off between mind and mouth. Distantly, I thought I should worry, that I was bringing Fer in the room now, but Jesus, I was mellow and it was all so far away.

"Fer will never be gone,' said Román, unfazed. "He's too…everywhere."

I thought that might be the greatest thing anyone has ever said to me, and I wanted Román to repeat it, wanted to write it down, bottle it, keep it forever.

Fer will never be gone.

* * *

I walked along Calle de Moreto and queued past "Seasons of Love" when it came on my iPod, because walking past The Life Café while listening to that song made me feel something other than authentic. And I felt that after being in this world with my whole life (changes and coming out and heartaches and being would-be-widowed coming along for the ride), I was anything but.

I stopped and looked up at the way twilight was illuminating the side of a church I'd never really gave much notice to before. The setting sun colored the beige stone a burnt orange that I'd like to somehow capture in a photo later. I looked around and wondered if anyone else had stopped to look at how beautiful the light was. It didn't appear anyone else noticed.

Fer would.

Fer very obviously appreciated the beauty of a smooth chest, a firm thigh, a flawless ass. But, he also enjoyed beauty in every other forms, beauty like this. Once, Fer said to me, "Without beauty, what else is there?" and though I was sleepy and riding the glow of after-sex and it was 4am, I nodded in agreement and realized that maybe we actually did have a lot in common after all.

* * *

A few nights later, I dreamt of him again.

He was at a table, head bent over a drawing, his pencil scratching lightly over the paper.

I watched him for a long time, soaking in every detail. The tilt of his head, the way his foot curled under him on his chair. The shine of his hair in the early morning sunlight.

Finally he looked up. "Hey."

"Hey," I replied.

"How's it going?"

"I've been better."

He furrowed his brow and put his pencil down. "What's wrong?"

"I miss you."

"But I'm right here."

"You're gone, Fer."

"No, I'm not."

"I have to accept it."

"I'd never leave you for good, David. I'll always come back. You know that."

"Not this time, Fer." I wished he could understand. Wished it wasn't true.

I was sure he didn't wanna hear any more about it, and I sure as fuck didn't want to say anything more about it. Didn't want to let him know that I'd always wonder what I'll do when he's dead, that I knew he'll die before me, before he's supposed to, because that gunshot would take years off of his life even if he does survive it this time. And it terrified me more than anything in the world.

"I'm right here, David."

"Maybe." There was a lump in my throat. "I can't decide which is worse. Hanging on, or letting go."

"Do you really think I'd abandon you? And why are you all the way over there?" He got up and stretched his hand out.

When I reached him, his fingers were warm and soft and he pulled me close. "I missed you, David." He kissed me softly and the taste and smell and feel of him was suddenly overwhelming. "I wish you could wake up."

I woke up, and Fer laid there, the same as always.

* * *

Zurbarán was closing down according to the next dream. As I looked up in honor of the place that gave several meanings to my life, I felt Fer embrace me from behind and kiss my neck. For a long moment, that embrace held - a moment somehow outside time, a fragment of eternity. It made our connection feel so real, so timeless, so beautiful. So I did what Fer seemed to be telling me. No matter how painful it was, no matter how hopeless it all felt, I let myself hope. I let myself believe... in him, in us, if in nothing else.

I wondered if Fer would ever know how much that says about how I felt about him.

* * *

I walked on salt-white sand beside a black sea. I heard someone call my name, turned around and saw Fer come racing after me along the shore. Instantly, of course, I found myself rooted to the spot; all I could do was stretch out my hands. He came rushing towards me, hardly slowing down at all as he approached, and I glimpsed on his face the fierce determination with which he faced every challenge that had to be met, the expression I saw on his face as he stood before Toño. He cannoned into me, my hair touching his neck, my chin jabbing at his collar bone. There was a sweet, desperate moment, while I was simply moulding myself around that impact, when I became convinced that I will never touch that firm, familiar body again in waking life.

Whatever Fer said, it was impossible to accept any of the steps of the dance of disaster that brought us to that point; the violence, the betrayals, the overwhelming loss, as if they could truly be considered a price worth paying for anything. However much I would have liked our experiences to be meaningful beyond the here and now, the pain in our hearts could justify nothing, compensate for nothing, and I feared that in the end it could prevent nothing.

I felt depleted, broken, devastated, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into Fer's arms and tell him I couldn't do this, that I couldn't be without him. I wanted to say that he must come back, "Please come back, stay with me," and just as my arms tightened around his neck and the sob built up in my chest, I felt his long fingers touching my head soothingly, his lips brushing against my hairline and then he's looking into my eyes—his gaze loving, steady.

"You're going to be all right, David," he said. "Always know that. Never doubt yourself. I know that everything will be just fine." His eyes sparkled with hope. "Gosh, you're going to be absolutely fantastic, I know it."

And that's how I knew he was coming back.

The full moon was obscured, and I remembered another night when the air was thick and I saw things more clearly than I had in a long time. In the midst of all the anguish, I tried to imagine myself surviving and carrying on without Fer. And I decided that if everything became immutable and irreversible, I could go on with my life if I really wanted to. I'd have ups and downs, happiness and sorrow; I'd keep on living. But I knew with real clarity that there could never be anyone else. Yeah, there'd be men. There are always men. And maybe one day, there could be one who stays for more than a fleeting thought. Someone who could keep me company, share my life.

But there will never be this.

I felt the weight of untold years and knew that no matter how much happiness and success I could have without Fer, I will never escape that truth. I've gone through the whys. I've gone through every other way. I've thought of every fucking thing, and that's what it all came to.

Fer's voice called me back to attention, and I turned to face him. We kissed slowly, our lips soft and gentle, and I wanted to tell him that I'd seen the future. But words failed me, as they always did.

He put an arm around my waist. "You don't have to know," he said. "You don't have to have all the answers right now. You can figure it all out...when the time comes."

"With you..." I said.

The moment seemed to last forever – grains of sand digging into my skull. Fer's weight was solid on top of me and the silence of the night surrounded us. Fer took a shuddering breath and smiled. Then I pulled him down for another kiss, allowing myself to bask in my love for him. To accept this — him — for what it is: a sweet note, rising and falling out of the cacophony of my life.

"Fer, I..." I started, then drifted off. I felt like there was nothing else in the universe — the beach and the sky were so fucking big.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just...I don't know what I'd do without you, that's all," I said quietly. "And I'm trying to remember exactly when that happened. And how. And why..."

I know the answers to all those questions now, but all I knew then was the fact that somehow, where ever and when ever the fuck it happened, Fer became such an integral part of me...that I found that I couldn't meet my own personal needs without thoughts of him intruding in on the process.

"Don't really understand why..." I continued. I felt tears building and burning in my throat, thinking about it, but I willed myself to keep going until it was all out. "There's no one in the world I want more than you." I swallowed hard. "There never has been."

I grabbed onto the sides of his face and looked into his eyes. "Fer, you might never know how much you mean to me. How I appreciate any of the zillion things you've done for me, the way you touch me, the way you look at me...how much you give me every day. Every minute. You're the most amazing person I've ever known."

Fer kept staring at me, waiting for more, but how could I tell him the whole truth? That I wasn't him, never could be, and that if I ever tried it might only lead to disaster. Because I always fucked up, broke rules, wound up hurting others because I may not have it in me to do what he believed I could do. And when I look at that part of my life now, sometimes it makes me feel sick — not jealous, or even turned on like I sometimes used to be, just queasy and sort of sad. That I still somehow expect everything to stop someday. Not for Fer, but for me.

"It's gonna be great when this all ends up okay," Fer said, eventually. "We'll love it."

I just nodded, not entirely sure what exactly he was talking about. But then he went on.

"We'll both wake up from this nightmare, then we'll find a great place to live...something more affordable, then I'll go back to school. Then we'll graduate, go to university and find jobs that are perfect for us. And then we'll get married for real, and our parents will be there, then we'll have a kid, and we'll live happily ever after. Before we know it we'll be wondering why it took us a hell of a long time to find that kind of happiness."

He sounded so hopeful about it. Almost wistful, and I don't think I'd ever heard him that wistful about anything before.

"It's a nice dream," I said.

"Not a dream. It's the future. Our future."

And that was it for me. I thought I'd probably give Fer anything, do anything he asked and never resent him for it, and if this was all he wanted...how could I contradict him?

I fell asleep tangled around him, with the stars dancing above us, and dreamt about everything and nothing. Because we'd be together, living the future. Our future.

* * *

Fer's fingers twitched against my palm. My head felt like cement and all I could think was how it was very unfair that even in dreams, I had a hangover.

His fingers moved again, and there was a faint moan. With Herculean effort, I lifted my head from where it rested on the mattress. He moaned again, more like a gurgle. One of the nurses came in and stopped in her tracks as Fer's eyelids slowly opened.

"Oh my god!" She hurried to Fer's side.

"It's not real, don't get too excited."

She looked at me like I've lost my mind, and quickly grabbed the phone, paging one of the doctors. When she hung up, she went back to Fer and checked the various machines. "I can't believe it. We never thought…."

"It's just a dream, nurse."

"David, you're not sleeping." She reached across and squeezed my arm, smiling encouragingly.

I'd like to blame the PTSD for getting into my head that way, for making the real seem unreal, and the unreal so fucking convincing.

A bunch of people burst into the room then, pushing me aside. They started poking and prodding Fer, saying his name loudly, shining lights into his eyes. The doctor barked order for tests and told me that it was too early and that I shouldn't get too excited, they won't know the extent of the damage—

Then it hit me. It was real. He was awake. I wasn't dreaming.

My pulse raced as I went to him, saying his name over and over until he opened his eyes again.

...then he was gone in a flurry of white lab coats, silence in his wake.


	9. Flame: Fer's POV

**FER'S POV**

We all take our memories for granted. Happy or sad, we file them away in the recesses of our mind, only to dust them off every now and then when nostalgia beckons. Some linger wistfully, some may haunt us for eternity, but ultimately they are our footprints in the sand, fading with each passing tide.

What few of us acknowledge is that those footprints aren't just records of our passing; they are _our life_. What we are is the sum total of our memories.

Each and every day, we make a thousand myriad decisions affecting our lives. Most of them are trivial; even seemingly important decisions get evened out over the course of a lifetime. Good things come from our bad choices, and vice versa.

Every decision we've made, every person that we've known, all the thoughts and dreams we've experienced are the unique patterns in the sand that let us know we have existed. And sometimes, it takes something so extreme to make us remember just how precious that is.

When I was eighteen, the world shifted, fell off its axis. The ground opened up, complete with fire and brimstone and the four fucking horsemen of the apocalypse. At eighteen, it was the end of the world.

I got shot in the chest, and I crashed and flew all at once, and in the space of one second everything imploded. It held all of the makings of good drama - surprise, revelation, fucking catastrophe. It was surreal, unpredictable, out of nowhere.

When it happened, I almost expected it to rain. It would have been fitting. I would have laughed my ass off.

Yeah, really, why not?

I mean, I understood politics and drama, and to some extent, fate; I was clued into karma, trusted instincts, do unto others as you wanted done unto you. I learned to have faith, even if it wasn't in what most people believed, and I rolled with love's punches as best I knew. Like some predictable gay drama, I had the queer-bashing bullies, the fag hag best friend, the straight crushes, though thankfully, I was gifted with accepting parents, and, of course, the opportunity to find the love of my life and be loved in return. I was interesting enough and some found me pretty hot, and – up until a point – I had accepted my wayward, movie-of-the-week plots. After all, there's a huge difference between seeing yourself as a victim and seeing yourself as a survivor, beggars can't be choosers, and life lived should be life appreciated, and all that.

But whoever was writing the script, whoever malevolent hand was pulling the strings, really cocked up on this one.

I was eighteen years old and I didn't want to die.

That's a simple sentence, but it sums the whole thing up.

David pulled my body close and kissed my lips, and as I felt his breathing, I tried not to think of last times or first times or any other time. Just felt that moment and took it and put it away and saved it because I somehow knew that it's going away – that everything was going away.

Those moments in which David and I might have taken time to learn our way around each other's hurts were lost and gone and I found myself counting as I never did before...in minutes, seconds.

Those seconds dragged by between every breath that I made, my chest seizing up tight each time, waiting for the moment when the next one didn't come.

As the pain receded and the final shut down began, I recalled moments and flashes, just like they said could happen. David held me as the joys and pains of my incredible life dissolved into the dark, sweet nothingness of eternity.

* * *

It hurts to die, but then you fly away. A white flash, a tug, the end. Time, direction, orientation, gravity, become meaningless. Society, understanding, values, morals, distant and distinct memories, role, status, any predispositions - gone. Love was no longer a singing, laughing, loving thing. Love is a matter of life and death, and life a matter of war, and death a matter of time.

A wave of complete consciousness of every thought and emotion swept over me. Knowing everything to be known, but completely unable to think in thoughts or words. My mind-voice was completely gone, yet I was completely aware of ideas, knowledge, wisdom, abstractions. Just knowing. Pure knowing. I knew things without thinking them. Like ideas were being fed directly to me. From me?

It made me strangely calm. Like everything was so simple after all.

Then I heard someone speak, trying to calm me, trying to explain. "You're dying," she said. "You're dying. Isn't it beautiful?"

And I was. I felt myself turn inside out, again and again; it came in waves, slow imploding inward waves which twisted and folded me inside out again and again, and each time was a death, a shocking, terrifying, beautiful, intense, joyful, incredibly profound death. I died over and over and over, hundreds of times that night, all while she tried to coax me, show me, teach me. Something in me wouldn't break, though. Something in me held back, even still, after all those deaths. It wasn't just fear; it was love. I wouldn't give in my heart, my emotion, my pain, my core. She gently pulled and tugged, _let go_, she said, _just let go_.

Then the strongest wave washed over me, pulled me in, captured me. I was stuck between the physical and mental realm, not comfortable in either, afraid of both. _Please_, I whimpered. _Please, please, please, please_. By this time everyone started gathering around me. I looked into each one of them, begging with a Please. _Please what, dear? Please what?_ The question perplexed me. I didn't know. My awareness of the physical realm started to fade from there, but I remember yelling PLEASE at the top of my lungs and then supplicating and then whimpering. "How can I die knowing what I know?!", "How can I die feeling what I've felt?!", "How can I die and leave my loved ones?", "How can I live?!", "How can I LIVE?!" I felt like I was pulsing, throbbing, glowing with energy. I shook my head. It wasn't okay. I wasn't supposed to feel that much anymore.

Someone else comforted me: _This is You_, he said, touching my chest. _Feel the Power. This is You. _

_Yes, this is Me. This is my fight. My battle to win or lose. My life to justify. My life. Which is far from being over. _

I didn't fear death for what it would feel like. I feared death for what it would take away. What I was worried about was what I was leaving behind, every thought I ever had, everything I strived to do, all my greatest hopes and desires, every connection I ever made, every single action left undone.

It was the difference between fear of death and fear of dying.

Even if I thought of doing so, I couldn't describe the feeling that I had next. It was like falling in love. It just happened. And then it felt like it had always been. I felt the energy, the confidence, the power in me began to surge. I felt it expand around me, encompassing everyone. I felt so calm, so peaceful, so beautiful, so ALIVE. I sucked the energy of the air into me, I could feel my blood capture it, I could feel it course through my body, I could feel it be released, I could feel the energy flowing through me, I could hear it passing through me.

It was a time and place where need outweighs rationale, and perhaps it is always the greater want that must be fulfilled first.

But then, something pulled me back. Unexpectedly, I remembered all the times I haven't been the best person I was capable of being. I was reminded of my thoughts and actions by which I hurt others. These thoughts instantly wrenched my heart from my chest and I was sucked into a tornado of hellish anxiety, utter despair and guilt.

_"Feeling insecure about whatever the fuck you're feeling insecure about, that's just convenient. It gives you a nice excuse to wallow in your self-pity and be miserable."_

_"Insecurity is an easy way to explain everything. If you can't find a reason why David might want to stay with you...well, maybe there isn't one."_

_"Yeah, keep fucking up. Then one day you'll realize that you wasted all the time in the world being stupid when someone who loves you that much was right there."_

_"You're too tied up in the past and worried about the distant future in all the wrong ways. You gotta stop that, Fer."_

_"What? If you're gonna waste all your time and effort fretting over who's going to take care of your poor little family and friends if you're not around, you better get your facts straight."_

Then I heard someone chuckling. "You're nervous about things, that's normal. Being in love is going to challenge you a lot more than you'll probably ever expect. You're right to think about that, but you've got to stop inventing a bunch of shit as an excuse not to face that challenge, all right?"

"Who's there? What are you saying?" I whined. "Why are you telling me all this?" Which I suppose was a little idiotic, but at the time I felt like I was missing the lesson I was being taught.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I heard someone said, "It took you all these time to figure out what you're supposed to do, so now you need to do it for awhile. You gotta go back, Fer, they can still fix you."

With these last words still ringing in my ears, I was sucked like a vacuum back into my body. I started to feel connected again, faintly, as if through a dark shrouded distant dream. The physical pain took my breath away as I heard the sirens, though I was too weak to do anything else.

* * *

In the days and nights that followed, I hurt more than I ever thought I could, and felt more joy than I ever imagined possible.

I was not dead. Life continued, within and without my body. I lingered. I saw my life stretch out before me. I wandered and forgot, then rested and watched. Like everything else, day and night had lost their meaning. Time itself hung suspended. Time was meant for other people in other places, where things had a beginning and an end, where there was clarity and sense, comfort and joy and love and life.

I had turned into a big human filter, taking people in through my eyes, new sights and old memories pushing at me to walk, walk, walk, all the time. It was my connection, my proof that I'm still here, still existing, in some ways.

I was hovering around one day, watching the sun get a little higher, the horizon a little brighter. The morning light was bouncing off the windows like jewels in the sky. It was the first time that I honestly saw how beautiful Madrid was. Sure, the parks were nice when the flowers were blooming, but this was the real city: Hundreds of building tops scattered, separated only by the tops of big trees. Hundreds of windows, with lights starting to glow from them as people woke up to the new day. I could imagine all the different people behind the windows: taking showers, brushing their teeth, making breakfast, making love.

Then in what seemed like a blink of an eye, I found myself hours and miles away, sitting on a dock, drinking in the serenity of my surroundings. The boats bobbing up and down gently on the water, the twinkling lights reflecting playfully off the surface, the gentle lapping sound of waves against the pier. I gazed at the horizon that beckoned with the promise of things yet to see and experience.

I looked for reasons within myself for every decision, every move. In my soul, I could account for some mistakes I had committed. And where do people like me go after we die?

Not that it mattered, because I decided I wasn't ready to go yet. I wanted to live. I didn't find God, but I did find hope, a reason to live. I just needed time: time to heal, time to recover, time to remember, time to do whatever it was that I needed time to do.

And right after that, the show could begin.

* * *

Four and a half weeks. I was busy learning and knowing and waiting, and then my attention would suddenly be directed to things happening in the physical world. It felt like jumping into a movie that had been underway.

I had the strange sensation that my existence had sped up while everyone else's lives had slowed way the hell down. In some ways I felt years removed from everyone.

Then again, time – it was moving on, and people were moving along with it. Some were moving easily, some were hitting the rocks along the way, and a few seemed to be crashing.

The day to day stuff was all there, but it was like the people I knew had taken that detour into another reality where you were always either a little numb or about to cry and you couldn't understand how the sun was shining and people were still stopping for the traffic light and going through the grocery checkout line and doing homework like nothing had changed.

It had changed, everything that mattered had changed and not just because I was in a coma; but, yes that was the catalyst and we all knew it.

So here's how it went:

David was coping-grieving, his heart broken, like he got shot, too. But he was still alive. There's something in him which seemed to be desperate in trying to find a reason to still get up in the morning and I thought that if he didn't find it soon, it would be...what would it be? Bad? Sure. But it's more than that.

David was...not exactly shaking, more like vibrating with some kind of weird energy that felt like it was going to fly out of him in jagged pieces. I would have been afraid to touch or go near him.

I'm trying to think of other descriptions I can use to try to make it a little easier, but there isn't anything. An anvil is an anvil whether it catches you offside or hits you right in the face.

Something very real died in David when I got shot. We all get it, right? Many people get the picture. In a way, none of us should be all that surprised, when it comes down to it. Horrified, upset – sure, but not all that surprised.

Weird, isn't it? I mean, at one time, walking out on David and being broken up again seemed like it was about a crappy as it could get – aside from the fact that we both knew we would always get back together – but then the other shoe kind of dropped and here we are now in deep shit.

I watched David mill around the hospital for weeks, wondering if time has gone back to its normal speed yet. That was something else I hated about the time after I

_- died -_

was gone, the fact that it sped up and slowed down at will, and I could never figure out if it was moving too quickly or not quick enough.

Anyway, shitty long hours of waiting and keeping up until they're too exhausted to hold their heads up took their toll on everyone. Nothing really changed. Watching me sleep should be boring by now.

There was another room down the hall that people seemed to be rushing in and out of. I wondered idly if someone was dying and thought that maybe people thought that about me when I came in. I also wondered – not for the first time – how someone could lose that much blood and still be alive.

For my part, I was in a strange position. My state made me feel disassociated from the outcome of it all. I still loved my parents, David, Yoli – nothing can take that away – but for all that, at the back of my mind, there was the tempering memory of exactly what I was up against.

I thought – and not for the first time – about how other than my parents, David was the one that had gotten the short end of the stick in this whole thing; maybe even more than I had. Sure, I was the one in the coma, but when you came down to it David was going through all the crap just as much. Yeah, he wasn't the one getting his chest cavity exposed in the open air and his body drilled with tubes and being tested and Christ knew what all, but he was there everyday, listening to the doctors, making sure he understood what was going on and what they were hoping for and the percentages and the odds. David held my hand and put his schooling at the back burner and managed to considerably keep his temper most of the time, even when he was in a pissy mood or tired or hurting or just at the end of his rope and sitting there crying for the third time that week.

That's the time when I found myself wondering whether it could have been worth it, if the afterlife could have offered me anything so beautiful as to tempt me away from David's side, from David's grief.

Right when he was maybe coming to understand that I won't dick him around this time, right when it seemed possible that we could sort of do okay together, well, then he learns it doesn't matter how determined we are to do this; fate or God or whatever might have another idea entirely. So all of a sudden, there was all this shit happening that we had absolutely no control over. What's the point? Why put yourself out there when no matter what you do it could all be gone in a flash?

So sometimes he'd withdraw and when they'd manage to get him in the same room with everyone, he was evasive and vague, always assuring everyone he was just fine and that they shouldn't worry about him. But then sometimes there's a loud noise, the flash of a red napkin, a sudden, unexpected crowd, and people would know that David really wasn't fine and that there's very little "typical" about him anymore.

David was becoming more isolated and that wasn't even anyone's fault. Our friends were, other than the family, a bunch of teenagers. They were busy with their studies and their papers and their projects. They had their romances and their breakups and all that adolescent angst that makes school such a roller coaster ride – if you're not in the ICU.

Our friends, though they cared about me – honest to shit they did – were kids and kids have even more trouble dealing with the possibility of death than adults do. It's one thing to lose a friend in high school to a car wreck or something 'normal', but to see someone go down to coma was awkward. It was more drawn out, more painful somehow and they simply didn't know what to do to help. They would come over and not know what to say or where to sit.

You know how when you go to visit someone in the hospital, you want to see them and feel sort or virtuous about being a good person and then you can't wait to get the hell out of there? That was how it was for most and I could see it as soon as they sat down.

Anyway, other than David, there was also Yoli.

Yoli began to focus on how people were starting to forget what happened, starting to move on, and she couldn't accept that; she couldn't let that happen. She began concentrating her attention and energy into making sure that I was never forgotten. She talked to many people, got them to sign petitions, named a classroom after me and friends tried to help as much as they were allowed, but mostly, Yoli seemed to need to do it for herself. Also reeling from shock and grief, she was too scattered for a long time, and one night, I ran into her, furious and myopic, short-fused over David's barbs about my obvious death. Yolanda gave him that look, like she's in the know and David was missing something massive and obvious and significant.

Needless to say, it didn't go too well, but I couldn't exactly blame her. For what seemed like the longest time, she cried and screamed about how unfair it all was but, of course, it was neither fair nor unfair. It simply was. There is often neither rhyme nor reason to life and death and that's one of the hardest things to accept.

So she couldn't accept that her bestest friend in the whole wide world might die and someday be forgotten.

But I might be, of course. No, not like that. Of course I won't be forgotten, not by the people who knew me and who I mattered to, but the plain fact is that life does go on and after a while people accept it and get on with their lives and that can be a knife in the gut to the ones who are still reeling.

In other words, everyone was scared and angry, but not for too long.

* * *

Coming out of a coma was never the way they portrayed it on television. It wasn't like waking from some nightmare, eyes wide open, lungs desperately trying to take in air, heart beating a thousand miles an hour as you ask yourself where am I? What happened? It wasn't struggling to push the darkness away, searching out the good thoughts, images, feelings, anything to escape the terror haunting you in that dark abyss of nothingness. And it sure as hell wasn't eyes prettily fluttering open, awake and conscious and fully functional.

I had been conscious for three whole days before I managed to even open my eyes. All the while, I was in a limbo, floating in warmth with no reference points, no sight, no real touch. Trapped in my head as I lay on the hospital bed attached to a respirator. Fading in and out of consciousness. Then waking up with this fucking intense pain and fear and only wanting to see _him_.

I admit I was kind of waiting for that made-for-TV movie moment when everything came together and I was wonderfully, magically all better right as the ending credits rolled. A part of me felt like my…'happily-ever-after' was just around the corner, like any second we'd be back to the way things were. Isn't that the way it's supposed to work? This huge trial is put in front of you, and you survive it, get through it, fucking triumph over it. You get some kind of reward for that, don't you?

Right.

I almost died; I'm not a fucking idiot.

The first thing that happens after you wake up from a coma is simple: you're fucking scared out of your mind. I mean, waking up in the middle of the night sweating and convinced that you're probably going to die after all and not knowing how to deal with the reactions you'll get from everyone. But that only lasts a while, a week or two or three and then – well I can only speak for myself, you sort of dig in and say 'Okay, this is what we're dealing with. Fine then, let's do it.'

Because there was nothing else to think or say. Perhaps there never had been. For all I knew before the incident, I was young and invincible. Paula's accident aside, it had been a long time since I'd thought about death at all. Speaking hypothetically, if I had said "I'm not afraid to die" months before, I was sure David would have responded with, "But how will I live without you?"

All that was over. Since the possibility became imminent, any reassuring phrases to the contrary was needless.

Back to the point, though, the first couple of days were awful. I was so confused and scared and when people talked to me it sounded like they were underwater or I was underwater or, I don't know, something like that. They'd be talking to me right in my face and I had no fucking clue what they were saying to me. I couldn't make out the words, and I was always in pain, and I was just plain frightened all the time.

I remember other bits and pieces - a nurse checking my temperature, my mom reading to me, my dad talking to someone on the phone about reprinting copy and studying the demos and checking the latest reports of God-knows-what. At some point, a nurse was fitting an oxygen mask on my face, and I freaked out. I remember the sense of panic like nothing I'd ever felt before, like if she got that mask on me, she'd be killing me. I know that sounds crazy, but that's what it felt like. I tried to push her away, tried to sit up, to roll away, tried any fucking thing I could think of to protect myself, and I know I was making this awful, awful noise, and then I saw David and he placed his hand on my forehead and smiled at me so gently, so beautifully, that I knew everything was okay. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear and said everything in the world I ever needed to hear just by saying my name. "Fer."

And then I slept or passed out or whatever. All I know is more oblivion followed, with occasional vague impressions of consciousness.

Some days, I could never seem to muster the energy necessary to open my eyes much less talk or run interference between David and…well, anybody. And then, one day, like it was totally nothing, I just opened my eyes and was fully alert.

David's mom was next to my bed, and when she saw me wake up, she sort of lunged for the call button on the bed, and I couldn't help it, but I flinched away, thinking she was going to touch me, and then I felt awful because she looked so hurt. She smiled calmly and slowly reached for the call button and pressed it as she said, "Everything's okay, Fer."

I sighed and nodded and tried to smile at her. I really wanted to ask for David, but she'd say…something, or it'd be the way she'd say whatever, and I was kind of worried about what was going on, and I didn't want to get upset about anything.

But then the door swung open, and David barreled in, smiling the hugest smile I'd ever seen, and I wondered what was going on to make him so happy. I couldn't help but smile back, thinking maybe he'd passed an exam or won a trip somewhere. He approached the bed carefully, nice and slow. "Well, look who's awake," he said softly.

"Hey," I managed, feeling ridiculously proud that I'd managed a syllable with actual meaning. Okay, maybe it sounded more like I was exhaling a puff of air, but still.

Amazingly, David's smile got even bigger. "Hey," he said, and seemed just as proud of me as I was.

"Hey," I said again, just because I could, and David laughed and impulsively kissed my forehead.

The doctor was smiling too, and it seemed weird to me that everybody was in such a happy mood. I wondered what was happening that was so great, but fuck if I didn't fall back asleep just as the stethoscope was put to my chest.

Actually, that was okay, because when I woke up the next time, there was just David in the room, and the lights were down low, and something quiet was playing on the radio, and I felt more like me, not so disconnected. "Whas'sup?" I said, and shit, did that hurt! It felt like somebody scraped sandpaper down my throat.

David stood up and moved closer to the bed, slipping an ice chip in my mouth and running another around my lips.

"Mmm," I said, my eyes closing in relief. My voice was still rasping, but at least it didn't feel like I'd swallowed a bucket of knives anymore.

David just looked at me, and his face was all sweet and tender, but then he said, "I swear to God I'm going to fucking kill you if you do this to me ever again."

It took me a long time to figure out what the hell he was talking about. You see, after I woke up, I somehow forgot about a lot of things. The doctors called it Psychogenic Amnesia. For a while I forgot how I understood what it all meant, and it became a huge mindfuck trying to recreate everything that I experienced, or even to remember them in a way that was comprehensible. And no one ever sat down and said, "By the way, you died and got revived but was in a very critical condition, and they thought your organs were gonna start failing and then you'd die for real!" None of the people who visited was that much of a blabbermouth.

Instead, I had to sort of piece everything together by the way I felt and the way people treated me and the way people looked and the vague details about what happened while I was out of it. And then when I finally started to have an inkling that maybe it was pretty serious, I had to decide if I even really wanted to know all the details.

Maybe it seems strange that I didn't pester the doctors and nurses and everyone for details, but at first, I just didn't care. It's kind of like I was floating - not really present, but not totally checked out, either. I guess part of it was that I couldn't stay awake. I mean, I could be in mid-sentence and, poof, out I'd go. But even when I was awake, I didn't care about anything - didn't wonder about anything. Beyond the most basic details I didn't even really care what was really wrong with me. When we talked about it at first, it was like discussing the weather or something - it was good to know the gist of it, but there was nothing I could do about it, so why worry.

But then, without realizing it was happening, interest in what was going on started creeping back. It's like one day I just started wondering stuff to myself, but I didn't care enough yet to ask anyone anything, and then one day I cared enough to ask.

They told me what happened, and the memories started flooding back in.

I didn't know what to do with myself. Okay, I knew that there were really only two alternatives – either I'd get better or I'd die, but sometimes I wished that it was settled one way or the other. I don't mind admitting that there were more than a couple of days when I didn't think I'd ever recover – and there were days when I wasn't sure that I even wanted to. There were mornings when I'd wake up and for a second, maybe a minute if I was really lucky, I'd forget that I'm in injured. I'd wake up pretty slowly, you know how it is when you just sort of climb out of it into being awake, and for just a minute I'd forget that I almost died. I'd forget that this was probably another day that I was going to spend on a bed in a hospital with tubes in me and chemicals being fed into my veins and that when it's over I'd feel so damn awful that I'd wish I was already dead.

I'd forget, until I remember again, and before that happens I'd think about whether or not I remembered some assignment for school that was due or if I have any errands to run or what food to have for dinner. I'd lay there and try to get my day lined up and then it hits me that no, the sun isn't shining and there are clouds and the wind is going to be cold and it's just another day to get through.

All of that would happen, but as soon as David sees me get into that funk, he'd do something to get me going again. He'd sit and watch TV with me or he'd kiss me or hold me when I was too sick and hurting too much to fucking do anything and he'd let me cry myself out. He'd tell me about all the great places we'd go to when I got better and he was so goddamned sure about it – like it wasn't just an assumption, that there was no question about it at all, that dying wasn't an option, that I would get caught up in it and make it through another day.

I felt strange about all of that, though. I mean, I was in my fucking death bed and I looked like shit and I felt even worse and David was trying to show or tell me things that a year ago I'd be thrilled to see and hear but now I was just struggling to keep my fucking eyes open.

But because of him, slowly, day-by-day, my life seemed to become more of my own. It took months and I still got tired easily and it wasn't like I wasn't seeing doctors every time I turned around, but all in all, I was lucky and we were in a far better situation than any of us ever expected.

* * *

Sometimes I could go an entire day and not think about it. I mean most times it was every couple hours or something, and I wasn't even really aware of it anymore, except by the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and the slick, cool film on the palms of my hands. And even if it was just thinking about how I was *not* thinking about it…

Well, that's really the same thing.

It was really hard to avoid anyway, because the school attack became a big deal. Apparently, I was considered a hero. But I think people needed to just, I don't know, latch onto a story that could make them feel that in something stupid and tragic as a school shooting, that some human lesson could come out of it. But those lessons are always around, you don't need to find them in shit situations and then slap the label of hero on someone to make everyone else feel better. Like, we can all feel good about ourselves now. I don't feel good about myself because something bad happened to me, and I happened to get lucky and live through it. The truth is, it was horrible and terrifying. It sucks to be someone else's learning experience. What I did was impulsive, yes, but I didn't sign up to teach Important Life Lessons.

On those rare days that drifted by and I didn't think about it, didn't get a chest pain or my arm didn't shoot with pain or I felt like an 18-year-old attached to a 95-year-old body… on those days that I didn't get a niggling panic attack or a sudden urge to just fucking scream at someone… when I didn't feel like cowering into a corner or holding my breath when certain people walked by or feeling *sofuckingglad* that David was with me, holding my hand, or putting his arm around my shoulder, or just standing beside me, breathing and watching and protecting me even though he wasn't even consciously aware of it…

Those rare days would still often end up in panicked nights. With fitful dreams and nightmares that seemed more real than life. With images and senses that were more tangible than the ones I could pick up with my eyes, ears, and fingertips.

So all through the chronic chest pains and the fucking hands that sometimes made me so mad that I just sat on them to make them stop shaking, I focused as hard as I could and wished and prayed and sometimes cried because it's never ever fucking going away. And then I'd get nightmares and panic attacks and wake up shivering and so fucking angry that I couldn't even try to control it.

But I had to. I controlled all of it. Because I didn't want to let it win. Didn't want it to screw up my life more than it already has.

I mean, yeah, fuck, it wasn't fair. I didn't deserve it, no one deserved it and I fucking hate that it happened to me. Sometimes I got so overwhelmed with the feeling of it all just being so fucking *wrong* that I'd puke. Had to run to the nearest toilet and hang over it and spit up bile until my stomach stopped clenching. Till I stopped shaking.

But then…

I'd chastise myself for being such a fucking princess.

Because guess what? I could walk. And talk. And I could feed myself and go to the bathroom myself and I didn't need anyone to help me to do anything. And most importantly, I was fucking alive. Alive.

That's what's really important.

It's one of those things that was hard to really get until you sit in a physiotherapy ward for eight hours a day, trying to learn how to pick up a fucking paper clip, while you're surrounded by people in wheelchairs, just trying to learn how to stand up. Or move their head. Or breathe.

And then I'd feel guilty for still dwelling on it, thinking about it. I should move on. And I *have* moved on. I mean, I don't talk about it all the time. And I don't try to let it change my life any more than it already has. It's buried. Done. Gone away. I'm pretty fucking reasonable about it. It happened. It's over. End of story.

So what *did* I do after I got out of rehab?

I focused on my health. Went home to my parents. David needed a break, even though he never said that and wouldn't have admitted it. You see, nobody else would know, but it's not like I got shot and went to heaven and then the people there just said, 'Oh by the way, you're not really dead yet. You're in a coma and we're just waiting for what's gonna happen. Meanwhile, let's just watch everyone become miserable,' and I said, 'Really? Shit. Too bad then.' That's not how it happened. After waking up, accepting what happened to me and dealing with it and surviving it... sometimes that was a full time job. And sometimes when I wasn't accepting it or dealing with it and barely surviving it, it was David's full time job. And he could have quit. He probably wanted to often enough. But he didn't. He walked the whole fucking way right there with me. Every step. Every miserable, terrifying, agonizing step, all I had to do was put my hand out, and David was right there.

But this time I knew he had a shitload of schoolwork that he had to catch up on, and he needed some space emotionally. The past months have offered a grand total of eight regular days a week, so David's been working a little overtime, but maybe someday, we'll actually have more regular days than fucking traumas, and all will be normal as they could be.

So I was staying with my parents while David visited me every single day after school, and we'd agreed that, as long as I felt well enough, I'd stay with him on the weekends. Everyone was happy with the arrangement and I was pretty much fine with it, too. In all honesty, I was just goddamned happy to be alive and living anywhere.

Whenever I was with David, he'd try to stay cheerful, for my sake, but I'd catch him sometimes just staring out at nothing, with this look in his eyes, a despair there that made me want to wrap my arms around him and draw him back. I know there were times when he couldn't be, of course, and then he'd be depressed and retreat upstairs and close the door to stay in our room and take a mental trip some place.

And me, well, I *tried* to forget. Tried to put it all behind me. But I sure as fuck wasn't successful. I thought about it all the time. I think about it all the time. All the time. All the fucking time.

How the *fuck* can you not think about that every fucking second of your life?

All I could think was:

Who am I today?

Who do I think I am today?

Someone different than yesterday? The day before? Last week? Last year?

Different than the person I was before my chest got scrambled?

Maybe.

**Yes.**

Yes, I'm someone different.

But I'll always wonder...

What if...?

What if I got hit... a fraction of an inch this way... or that way...

What if I got hit at a different angle?

What if David got hit, too?

What if Toño didn't drop the gun? What if I hadn't recovered? What if I was a vegetable forever?

What if I died?

What if... it never happened?

Who would I be then? What life was I meant to have?

Those were my what if's... that I carried with me. That haunted me, that plagued me, that made me lie awake at night.

The thing is, it took a while before those thoughts even started creeping in, because for a long time, what happened to _me_ hasn't been my focus. Maybe that's wrong and psychologically unhealthy. Maybe any shrink would say I was in denial. Maybe I was. I'm not sure. I just know that since I woke up, my focus had been on everyone else. And even through all the shit that happened, that's where I stayed...mostly. Yeah, I kinda did a meltdown the night I came home with David to the flat, just when we were getting ready for bed. It wasn't nearly as dramatic as some screaming, thrashing PTSD attacks, trust me. But our bed for some reason reminded me of what happened, and, yeah, I ended up crying and David felt like shit and held me while I did.

So after some time, I figured what would really make David and I feel better would be if we could just totally unload, and then just be over it. I knew David wanted to - his irritation was hovering just under the surface all the time, but what kind of a shitty guy screams at his lover for almost dying?

So I made a decision. On the weekends when I was staying with him, I made sure I was awake by 4:30 or so. That gave me time to move around some and fix dinner so we could sit down and eat. Mostly I just talked to him - about school, our friends, our parents, about the neighborhood and the weather and dumb stuff I saw on TV. Really it was all just dancing around the room saying, I'm still here, I'm still here, I'm still here.

It's not like I sat him down and said, "Okay, this is me, trying to help you get over all the fucking trauma of the last few weeks," but it's not like it was some huge secret either.

So when David sat back and shook his head one night and said, "So, what's with this whole happy homemaker thing you have going?" I just laughed at him.

"I'm just reminding you," I said with a shrug.

"Of what?"

I met his eyes and shrugged again. "Everything," I said.

And for a second, David looked somewhat surprised, like I'd just figured out something he didn't want me to know. He wouldn't look at me, and when he whispered, "Fer," in that unhappy whisper of his, I thought my heart would break.

But I couldn't just lay in wait for David and just spring all of my new-found insights on him. David probably thought I wanted to have these Meaningful Discussions About Everything, but that was not it. I wanted David to remember that everything included a lot of not-so-tragic stuff.

It was a success. Or so I thought. David was extra mellow that night and all the next day. I started thinking that maybe I'd dodged a bullet or two because he'd handled my running the tests and everything without hardly blinking.

I should've known better.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of glasses clanking together. It sounded like some of them got knocked over, and I sat up in bed, thinking someone had broken into our room.

Leaning over, I turned on the bedside lamp. David was standing at the foot of the bed, bottle of vodka in one hand, a glass in the other. The shadow of beard on his face, not to mention his messy bed-head, made him look debauched.

I gave him an extra long look and he just returned a funny, lop-sided sort of smile. But it wasn't really a smile. He looked...sad.

Why the fuck was he looking so sad?

Could be that there's just been another internalizing of what a selfish asshole he thought he was. But that wouldn't normally make him look like his boyfriend's just died. Okay, not a good pun under the circumstances.

I allowed myself a small sigh and then set about the delicate task of getting the man to tell me what the fuck was bothering him so much that it looked almost like he'd been crying.

"Do you have any idea how close you were to missing all of this?" His tone was belligerent, and it took all the willpower I had not to see if I could gauge how much of the stuff he'd drunk.

I considered making a joke about almost missing the bromance between Professor X and Magneto, but I doubted he'd appreciate my humor at that moment. Goddamn Salvador.

"But I didn't," I said seriously. "I'm here, right?"

David just made a sour face at me and shook his head. "For weeks, they didn't know if you'd make it," he said, like he was telling an unimportant little story. "They wouldn't tell us a fucking thing. Wouldn't commit to a fucking thing. It was all about covering their stupid liability. Like we were going to sue them, for what? Emotional distress? Breach of promise?"

He gestured at me, the liquid splashing out of his glass as he did. "The Borja thing was a shock," he admitted, "We were a mess, and at the time I can't say I expected it, but looking back, it didn't seem out of the blue."

_Oookay..._

He moseyed over to the window, smirking at our view of the park. "The Susana and Román and the jealousy episodes, those were dicey, but not too serious. Then the whole bisexuality issue came up and you lost your fucking mind and walked out on me, and I was thinking, 'OK, shit's getting real again..' but still, no ghouls hovering around waiting to unplug anything. But those were really just previews for the coming attractions, weren't they?"

"This last one…didn't see that shit coming at all. You walked in, like a fucking hero and my special knight in shining armor, and faster than you can say fuck, you're flat on your back with a bullet lodged in your chest. And I was thinking, 'what the fuck, people? But he'll be fine. He has to be fine, because just two fucking days ago he was on my case and no one can be that annoying one minute and on his death bed the next."

I wasn't quite sure why we were talking about these exactly. "Stop," I said. "David, nothing is different. Nothing is worse. Stop."

"You could have missed all of this, do you get that?" David asked angrily. "Do you get it even a little bit? All of this could have been lost! The bed, the classes, our fucking little idyllic strolls down memory lane. Do you have any idea how close you came to missing every last fucking minute of this? Do you have any clue at all?!"

David suddenly swung around and hurled his empty glass at the wall and shouted over the sound of it shattering, "I'm not gonna keep doing this! You have to stop it! Do you hear me? Are you fucking listening to me, Fer? Do you understand?"

I was torn between wanting to rip him a new one and laughing my ass off. Part of me wanted to give David some flippant reply, but his anguish was so palpable, even if it did come out sounding mean.

"You're the one who says we get to decide what to take away from all this shit!" he said. "So what's the takeaway, Fer, huh? What's your bright, shiny take on all this fucking shit, tell me that!"

"I come back," I said. "That's your take away, David. Every time. No matter what. I come back. To you."

David just rolled his eyes. "I'm not doing this again, Fer. I swear to God, I'm not. You have no fucking idea what it's like, no fucking idea how it feels to lose you. Over and over again."

"Oh, really?" I said, incredulously. "I guess I've been having so much fun up to this point! David, I've been here the whole time. I know, okay?"

"You've been unconscious the whole time!" David yelled.

"But I'm not going anywhere this time so deal with it. I'm not going anywhere!"

He turned abruptly away from me and asked the question that had been nagging at him forever. "How can you bring me here...make me feel all these shit and then die on me? I just…I don't understand how you think you can do that."

I closed my eyes. "We'll think of something else," I said to him. "Stop thinking about it right now, all right? It's fucking over. All of that shit is over, do you understand? It's over."

If I'd learned absolutely nothing else through the insanity of the last months, at least I knew that there was nothing else I could say to him, there were no words to ease the fears, the fucking terrors he'd lived through.

I waited until he stood up a little straighter, until he squared his shoulders and took one deep breath and then another. "David?" I said really softly.

He shrugged his answer, but I stayed silent until he turned around and looked at me. I held my hand out to him and said, "Come to bed."

He didn't smile, but his face softened somehow. He set down the bottle and shut off the light by my bed, then walked around and crawled into his side of the bed.

When he came close enough, he nuzzled against my cheek and gently kissed me. Then he pulled back and looked at me. Just looked at me. Just fucking looked right into me and everything just stopped for a minute and all that existed were me and David.

Fifty years from now, when I'm nothing but a shriveled up heap of skin and bones, I may forget my name, I may forget who I am and where I am, but I'll never forget the way David looked at me at those moments.

He kissed me once, twice, then a third time, the intensity growing like the swell of a wave until he pulled back and stared at me some more. He leaned in, his mouth poised above mine and whispered, "Fer," he said, resolutely, bracing, "When I say I love you do you believe me?"

An involuntary flinch came over me.

"Or do you think I'm a liar?"

Flashes of light had shown up in his eyes, the tears flowing freely as he continued, "Because fucking hell, Fer, there isn't anything else but YOU, you and me, US, together, that's what it all is to me, what it's always been, since that first moment until now. Everything we've done has been about love, about the fact that you love me, that I love you and that's the only reason to be together. So...okay?"

Tears welled in my eyes, borne of tenderness and such soul-deep gratitude that I couldn't even begin to describe. "I love you, David," I sighed.

I always knew it could be like this...

I could hear David's breathing, harsh and a little uneven. My arm tightened slightly around him, and eventually I felt his hand touch mine, and then those beautiful fingers tangled around my own and I had to fight even harder to keep the tears from spilling.

What we mean to each other is overwhelming. I don't think David and I are like regular people. I don't think we love each other like regular people do. Maybe I shouldn't say shit like that, but that's what I think.

After a moment, David turned his head slowly and our lips met again briefly. Then with an easier sigh, one of … relief, almost contentment, he nestled his head back into the pillow. "Sometimes I wake up, and I forget that you have, too," he managed to get out. "I forget that you're with me, and I feel this...panic, like waking from a nightmare, and then...then I open my eyes, and you're there, and it's such a relief."

I suddenly flashed on the happy, carefree David who bounded into my life not so long ago. If that kid had been asked to look into the future, what kind of a life would he have described? I wondered if he would have been so quick to show off his swagger in my face if he knew then how it was all going to end up. Would he have even thought about it in those terms?

I put my other arm around him and held him for a long time, then I whispered, "David, I never meant to make it harder for you."

"Fer… " I heard the pain in his voice.

"But I had to be … had to somehow hold it all together to be what you needed me to be."

He looked down at me with that wry look that can tear my heart out. He saw something in my face though, because his eyes softened. I took that as an invitation, and pulled myself up to sit next to him, our hands still tangled together.

We had to deal with it. It was our chance. He was strong for me when I needed him to be. He didn't let his own fears and failings stop him from trying to give me everything, every damned thing, that I needed from him.

So I started. "David, I only started sort of remembering this part a few days ago. I had a dream while I was in the coma, not a nightmare, just a dream … about you...and then..."

I was about to growl at myself to spit out whatever it was I was going to damned well say, so I continued.

"You were with Yoli, talking about me. You were crying about how I left you, but after a moment, there I was...in front of you. We kissed, and the whole time I was remembering everything. All of our memories together."

"It felt like...I felt really happy. By doing what we did, I felt like we were...beginning."

I felt the need to explain.

"It was almost like being back at Zurbarán, and the light flashes in a certain way, or sometimes when we're in bed and I see your face close to me, and...I remember us kissing in front of everyone for the first time, your face so close to mine and you're smiling right into my eyes and I was smiling at you and … and I knew that you loved me, even then. And I was so fucking happy…"

I broke off, overwhelmed by a sudden revelation.

I was happy in that moment, deliriously happy. But not because I knew David loved me. I think I'd always known that. No, that wasn't it. Or not all of it. Not the best part.

"Not just because you loved me," I said, finally figuring it out, finally seeing it, feeling it, knowing it. "But because you were happy that you loved me. You wanted it," I told him, my voice suddenly choked with tears as I realized exactly what it was that could have been destroyed between us, what it would have robbed me of, what it would have stolen from David, from us.

David just stared at me. His eyes peering straight into me. Then I said, "I need to talk about this. Is that okay? Will you listen? Just listen, that's all I'm asking."

I pried my mouth open and said, "David … I don't want to go through all the things that happened after I got out of the hospital, but there are some things that I need to say. And I need you to hear me. I need you to promise that you'll listen to me. That you won't start trying to fix things, or taking blame for things. That you'll just listen. Okay?"

He looked at me blankly. He probably really didn't want to do it. But we needed to. So I took a deep breath and nodded, trying to hold myself together. I was going to talk about all the ways we hurt each other. All the things we did or didn't do, or did badly. And I needed him to sit and listen without feeling like … like he needed to be afraid that we haven't learned anything, like it's only a matter of time before we fucked it all up again.

"In fact, I don't want you to just listen. I'm asking you to stop being you for a minute. To stop trying to take everything I say and work out how you could have fixed it, and blaming yourself because you didn't. I'm telling you now most of what went wrong between us…just happened. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't mine. We were a mess … and that doesn't mean that we failed because we didn't fix each other at the time. It just means that we both needed time. Do you hear me?"

I reached out and touched his face.

I started off.

"I guess after everything with the whole Marcos business, there were this whole batch of emotions that were trying to burst out of me. Pain and fear and...sadness, because of what happened."

David tried not to wince at that. But he kept calm, stayed clear so that I could talk.

"And anger," I said. "Beneath all of it was the anger. And I didn't have the strength to deal with all of it at the same time, so I sort of pushed it all away. I couldn't juggle it all. I was too...inexperienced, or maybe too fragile and vulnerable. So I shut it all down. Probably too fast and too soon."

I felt him go rigid beside me, and for a second, I considered trying to stop the words flow, or to at least find the right ones, the ones that wouldn't completely shred him, but it seemed like some torrent inside me just got loose and I couldn't find a way to shut the fuck up. My voice seemed to go on forever.

"For a very long time, I never got to deal. I wanted to be with you more than anything, so I convinced myself that I'd forgiven you, but the thing was, as much as I wanted to, I guess I really hadn't. Some part inside of me refused to trust you the same way ever again. But I didn't want to acknowledge that. I simply buried it all deep down."

"The thing is, all the clamping down on those emotions...it left me kind of numb. Like I could hardly feel anything. It was weird. And I think..."

I paused for a moment and looked at him.

"I think that for a long time, I went out of my way to create...dramas...just so that I could feel something."

His eyes left mine at that, and they've narrowed a little, and I knew that he was really trying to take in and process what I was saying.

"I think that all the shit...dating Yoli, getting with Borja, playing the push-pull game with you even though I was already with him, agreeing to marry him and insisting on having the wedding right the fucking next day...I think it was all a way to punish you..."

It was killing me to say all that to him, but he needed to know all those things.

"And to punish me."

His head snapped up at that, and I went on.

"David, I was such a mess. I hated myself some days. I felt like I was a total loser, and …"

"...when we became friends again while I was with Borja …most days I felt really happy spending time with you, being a part of each other's lives, but then there were days when I'd suddenly remember everything, and there'll be this flicker of regret, and then the anger would creep back up again. It was simmering inside me all the time and I had nowhere for it to go. It was all bottled up, and as you were there, I could let it all focus on you. All the anger, all the frustration...I could put it all on you. Not consciously. I don't mean that. But inside, whenever I needed to feel something, and you did something just mildly stupid, it was safe to let myself feel angry or upset with you. Sometimes it came out, but mainly, I just bottled it up and let it seethe inside me. That went on even after we reunited and decided to live together."

His eyes were very wide then, and darkly shadowed. He knew what was coming next and was bracing himself for it. I twined my fingers more closely with his, as if that frail link could hold us safe through all the torrents I was about to unleash.

"I think that's what the Susana and Román and bisexuality things were mainly about."

I continued. "While I was creeping about desperate to find out if you were cheating on me again, it was like a way of saying to myself, 'this is what you are and all you're going to be, you pathetic little sack of shit'. It sort of validated how badly I felt about myself the whole time."

"I mean, that's not how I thought about it then. Then it was all about what a lying shit you were, and how you wouldn't do this, or you did that … but none of that was real, David. None of that was what was really going on."

He was shaking his head. I knew he wasn't going to want to hear it. He wanted it to be his fault. But it wasn't. Maybe a little. But mostly not. Mostly it was me. I was the one who was fucked; and there were reasons that I was, but very few of them were to do with what he'd done or hadn't done at that time. Which is why he didn't want to hear it. Because if it was him, then in some way he was in control, is still in control. If it was about what he did, then if he can just not do it in the future we'll be okay. In David logic.

"David, I know you think that if you'd been the perfect boyfriend after we got back together that things would have been different. I'm telling you that's not true. I was fucked up. And no, that doesn't mean you should have seen it. It just means that I needed some time for all that shit to sort of...heal. That's all."

His hand went up to brush his eyes, and in some ways he looked about twelve. But in others he looked so much older, so much a man who has been through shit, has suffered, and has learned some lessons. And he was still only nineteen fucking years old!

I started again. "I think the way we have been with each other lately...it's what he would have wanted. It's what he did want, and so..."

My heart was thumping so hard I thought it was going to explode. What the fuck was I saying now? What who would have wanted?

I kept track of myself and continued.

"I think that I'm back to where I was trying to get to before the Marcos thing. I think that this is what he...that Fer, the boy who pursued you...this is what he wanted to have with you. I feel like we're back to where we would have been if none of that shit ever happened."

The words fell into my head and the pattern they formed made so much sense. David saw the recognition of that in my eyes and smiled at me. Somehow that smile became part of the pattern and it all made even more sense.

"Though in fact, this is probably better, because no matter how romantic that might have been, we probably would still have fucked up somehow anyway. Neither of us was really ready for this back then."

And ain't that God's own truth? We almost certainly would have fucked it up. It would have been different anguish, but anguish we would have had, just the same. And who knows? It might have ended so badly that we could never get it back together. We might never have gotten here, to this point. I tightened my hold on him, and he nuzzled my neck.

"So," I breathed into his ear, "it's like, all that anger that I had inside...I can let all that go now. It doesn't matter anymore."

I put my head on his shoulder and gave a happy sounding sigh.

"I feel free of it. Free of all of it."

And, just like that, the memory of everything that happened washed over me, drowning everything out in a flood of emotions that are so tangled it's difficult to work out exactly what they were, exactly what I was feeling.

Wonder. That was one element. It's so damned hard to believe that David and I just laid there and talked for what seemed like hours about things we've never talked about. Things that had always been tacitly understood as forbidden to talk about. It was a totally amazing thing for us to have done.

Anxiety. There was a bit of that. Would he hate me in the morning? Would he just want to forget it all? Would he want to pretend that it didn't happen, that I didn't say the things I said? But, he let me talk, let me say things that have been trapped inside so long. And just like that, they were out. I was free of them, and we could lay them aside and get on with our lives.

Gratitude. That was definitely part of the mix. A soul deep gratitude that he was ready to put aside his need to forget those horrible times, to not to ever think of them, because I needed him to go back there, back then, with me.

And lastly...I didn't quite know what the emotion was. It wasn't pain, nor anger, it wasn't sadness that made my eyes tear up and turned my stomach to mush. But whatever it was, it was strong enough to take my breath away. Strong enough to make me want to lay my head on David's chest and just sob.

It was relief. Because it was over. At last, it was over.

Nothing in the world could make right the fucking things we put each other through. Nothing. But the emotional trauma, the anger, the feeling of helpless betrayal - they were all gone. I have finally been able let them go. Then, hopefully, I could heal. And if I did, maybe David would too.

I shook free of the negative memories and moved into a clear space where all the possible paths our relationship could take seemed to spread out, branching in so many different directions it should be nothing but confusion, but for some reason the right path was suddenly really obvious.

The right path is the one that doesn't hurt me or David. The one that doesn't throw back in our faces all that we're trying so hard to give each other. Our trust, our love, our commitment to each other, to us.

I felt proud about that.

And somehow vindicated.

Mainly, though, I just felt fucking happy.

Because I knew that David loved me. I knew that he was a good person, that he cared about me, and that he loved me in all the ways that he could. I knew he was finding more ways to do that everyday.

With that, immediately, all other thoughts were swept away by the love I felt for him. The love I've always felt for him. And it has grown, not just in depth, but in wisdom and compassion. It's much wiser than it was, but it's also strong and deep and full of passion, just like it always was.

And amazingly, once I thought that, the band that was squeezing my chest so tightly I couldn't breathe, loosened.

Because despite it all - hell, probably even because of some of it, all of the totally shitty things have somehow led us here. Here beside each other - in our future together.

And where the fuck else would we want to be?

* * *

I'm still processing these experiences, many years later. I remember more now than I did then. I look back and see my life as I had lived it, completed my thoughts about things that had happened, understand a lot of things differently.

I realize that what happened changed me, us, forever. David and I learned about strength and healing and forgiveness and compassion. We don't let what happened rule us anymore, but we never, ever forget it.

We vow to never let ourselves see black and white again…that we'll live in a million beautiful dots of Technicolor, that we'll grab each opportunity like it's the only one that matters. Because life is definitely worth living if you live as much or love as much as you possibly ever can.

And so we do.


	10. Essence: David's POV

**A/N:** This chapter is both a fusion, because it eventually comes back to the same source of inspiration, and a fission, because from a certain starting point I took off in whatever direction I imagine David and Fer would take.

* * *

**DAVID'S POV**

It took two months, sixteen days, nine hours and... about fifteen minutes, and my whole fucking life suddenly fixed itself.

It was the greatest thing seeing Fer open his eyes, like he wasn't even real or something. That memory is now ingrained in blood and muscle and nerve ends, into every cell of my body. That moment, now, is part of who I am, and who I will be, who I was meant to be.

Fer. He was all I could think of, that familiar pull for his hand, the need to feel his presence, to close my eyes and sink into him.

It's in that moment that I knew it's started again. Everything had started again.

I looked up at the sky, looked up to Jesus Fucking Christ Almighty, because I knew He was there, looking after Fer, watching over him, the way and the light and all that shit, and I was thankful for everything I was thankful for, but I was also aware that this whole experience has scarred me in ways that I will never be able to fully grasp and I hoped He knew that I wouldn't tolerate any more shit from the world as far as Fer's safety was concerned.

Because the next couple of days weren't going to be much easier. That much I knew. I could feel the traces, the threat of it, lurking, waiting for the next shot. And the next.

_I'll be there. For all the shots, damn it. Bring them on. _

'It's gonna be okay,' I heard myself say. Fer will be okay, and I vowed to be there for him no matter what.

No matter what.

* * *

Before Fer got shot, I never went around saying, 'Fer is alive', and now I regret it. There's nothing I want to do more. I think of all the people walking around awake and healthy and safe who are just wasting their opportunities to go around saying, 'I'm alive,' and have it be true. As soon as Fer woke up, I said it every single day. Fer is alive. Fer is alive.

"I know," Fer would say, then I'd realize I'd been talking out loud. Hearing his voice would take me back, take me back weeks, months, too long, a lifetime.

"Fer is alive," I'd whisper again, into the darkness, just to hear how it sounded.

_It never happened it wasn't real Fer is awake it's okay it's alright Fer is alive._

As expected, the whole recovery time had been a nightmare, but there was this basic feeling that if we did everything right, if we kept our vigilance and made sure that there were no setbacks and if Fer lived through his injuries and the bed sores and the weight loss and the pain and the exhaustion and feeling like a living corpse, if we made it through all of that and he managed to become relatively stable then, shit, he should be okay. He should be able to look forward to another fifty or sixty years of every goddamned thing he wanted to look forward to.

Anyway, everyone hates hospital rooms, right? The rooms where you waited, that held you, trapped in a setting that only served as a reminder of how long was being taken between each click forward of the clock. And you never got anywhere, just a repeated cycle of tests, bad TV and interrupted sleep, and one day flowing into the next more slowly than any day ever did in the entirety of your life.

Still, whenever I was in Fer's hospital room, even with the confusion and tantrums and the treatments, with the no sex and the exhaustion and the day-to-day hell of the whole thing, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. I did what I could even though I knew that it isn't much. I picked up the phone and invited friends over so that Fer could have company and when he wanted to talk I listened and when he wanted to cry I held him so that he could go back and put a smile on and do it again for one more day and one more week and one more month and one more year.

When I had nothing but time and space to think, I'd focus solely on trying to anticipate what else he might need. I realized how easy it had been to focus on these things and block out thinking about the more serious issues. I knew I needed time to consider what had happened, but by the time I'd force away from the image of Fer bleeding from the chest and would start to think about how I myself had felt in the aftermath of shock and disorientation, I'd find myself at his bedside again. And I knew Fer needed me, so I resolved to think about all of it later. It would wait. It would have to wait.

* * *

Two more weeks passed before Fer was deemed healthy enough to leave the ICU. At that point, everything felt right; starting over again and everything would be new and totally different. I wasn't feeling anxious anymore, just happy and excited.

Or maybe I was fraught with anxiety and looking for the slightest little thing so I could blow a gasket and let off steam. Who the fuck knows.

Ask me what I remember after Fer left the ICU, and it would be the fear of losing him again. Engaging in a little armchair psychology here, but it's easy to assume that the fears I suffered while Fer was in a coma somehow came to the fore after the danger had passed. Hey, I'll buy that. Doesn't change anything, and unless Fer plans on constantly getting confrontational with crazy shitheads wielding shotguns, there's not a lot to take away here, but what the hell. A little bit of self-knowledge never hurt anyone, right?

Anyway, Fer went through weeks of rehab doing physical and occupational therapy, and in the midst of it managed to talk to everyone in the universe and re-acclimate himself to the real world. He put on an unbelievable show for his parents and Yoli and the rest of the crowd. He worked so hard trying to speed up his recovery, but some days it was just too fucking much and he could hardly bear it. Then it was up to me to…bolster him, you know?

And that brings me back to my mild paranoia, because it was about that time when I went through this period where I was positive, I mean, totally positive, that I was going to get into some kind of accident on the way to school. I called Fer every morning when I got there, and I know he thought I was being an idiot, but so what? I knew I was being an idiot, but I was still freaked out about it.

"What did you think," I asked him one time, "You wake up from a coma and suddenly I'm totally sane? I wish it was that easy."

Román suggested that maybe I was just trying to control the things I could control in the face of a fucking multitude of shit that were happening. That sounded pretty plausible. Personally, I'd label Fer the control freak between the two of us, but that's just me.

When Fer got the all-clear from his therapists, it was agreed that it would be best for him to stay with his parents for a while. Something about getting our bearings and breathing room and time and space and all of that. I'd really rather have Fer with me full-time instead of just on the weekends, but I reluctantly agreed. Hey, I wasn't giving in or giving up, I was just sitting back. There's a difference.

The first time I took Fer back to our apartment and led him to the bedroom, he said nothing and just stood there, until I saw that he was shaking so hard, and I realized with a sickening jolt that he was crying. He lay weeping into my shoulder and I held him and pressed myself against him, my fingers running through his hair. "Fer, it's okay. You're all right," I said at his ear.

I held him tighter and kissed his neck and waited for it to quickly pass, but it didn't. I practically had to support his whole body as we walked the short distance to the bed, his arms encircling me and holding on for dear life. He cried and cried and I just held him, because I couldn't fix it, and it was all I could do.

When he finally calmed down, he touched my face and leaned close, his mouth finding mine. I could kiss him all night, but I could feel his exhaustion and I broke away gently. He settled into me, his face pressed into my neck, his hand flat on my chest. "I'm so fucked up," he moaned.

"Nice to have some company," I smirked.

We spent the rest of the night re-familiarizing ourselves to how amazing it felt having our bodies beside and around each other. I buried my nose in his neck, inhaling deeply as I mouthed the skin there, and the rush of him — his taste on my tongue, his hair between my fingers — left me light-headed and overwhelmed. Each breath made me dizzy, like taking in pure oxygen after having breathed dirty air for months.

His fingers combed through my hair and I opened my eyes to find his searching my face, flicking back and forth, staring at me in the dim light of the room. I didn't know what he was looking for, didn't know what to show him except just me. I had nothing left to hide anymore. No excuses left.

And I knew I didn't need one, because he understood.

After that, I remember things were kind of weird between us for awhile. Maybe it would have been good to just have Fer give me shit about one thing or other, and I would get pissed because he obviously hadn't heard a word I'd said earlier, and then we would roll our eyes at each other, and hang out together, and have a reason to stay home and it would all feel very normal.

But it didn't happen like that. For awhile, Fer was, like...I don't even know how to describe it exactly. He just seemed so different, *to* me he was different. Humble. That's the only way I can think to describe it. Every gesture, every word was, like, tinged with humility. Almost like he was saying 'thank you' all the time. It was the way he held my hand and caressed my arm or nuzzled at my temple, it was the way he brushed his hand across my shoulders as he walked by, it was the way he said, 'hey,' when I walked in the room.

But then came the days when he was just, totally checked out. Not like he was foul tempered or anything; there were times he wasn't tempered at all, just totally gone. Like a lump of fucking "whatever." He never had an opinion about anything — dinner, the movie we picked, the shirt he'd be wearing.

I mean, ask him what he wants for dinner, and he'd just stare at me like I was an alien. So then, I'd just cook or order something, and that's what we'd have for dinner. Okay, that's a dumb example because I sound all proud of my wifely duties or something, but I'm just saying, I learned to know what to do so that our day-to-day lives worked for us. And I tried to push Fer in whatever direction, figuring if I could only get him in motion, he'd at least stay in motion. He ate when I said eat, slept when I said sleep and breathed when I said breathe.

But then, inevitably, came the asshole days. For the both of us. Over the dumbest fucking things.

One night, I was trying to help him get into bed when he suddenly remembered that he'd been lying in bed for months so he apparently didn't want to do that anymore. And when I tried to settle with him on the couch, I found myself fussing with covers and pillows until he snapped at me to leave him the fuck alone.

"I said I'm fine, David!" he bit off.

I sighed, a great big put-upon, you're-making-me-crazy sigh. So what if we'd had this conversation fifty times before.

"Yeah, you did. And I said no you're not, over and over, because you're not."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what, Fer?" I countered. "Being here? Taking care of you? What am I doing that you don't understand?"

Fer shook his head, his face a picture of frustration. "Look, you push, you know? You push hard, and you've got that fucking…face, and you watch me like a hawk and it makes me all nervous and stuff."

I stood there completely flummoxed and gaping at him, but he continued, "David, I know I had a bullet in my chest and I was practically dead. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. It happened, it could have happened and it did. But fuck, I'm okay now, all right? I'm just uncomfortable, not dead."

Okay, maybe he had a small, almost insignificant point there. But this wasn't about blaming someone for something, so I tried to explain. "Fer, I'm here helping you and feeding you your fucking pills and changing your bandages and whatever else because I know it's still difficult for you on your own. And I'm doing this because I love you and because I don't know what the fuck else I'm supposed to be doing, and what the hell else am I supposed to go on anyway?"

I took a breath, terrified that if I stopped talking I'd forget what I wanted to say, and God was I tired but I needed to say this. "You can't sit there and tell me you don't know me better than that, for fuck's sake. You know I'd put up with this shit for the rest of my life, never fucking sleep through the night again so long as I know that you're safe and comfortable. Do you know how thankful I am that you're here? That you survived? Do you have any idea? I was THERE, goddammit!"

So there it was back out in the open. It will never ever leave us.

"Okay, David, I get it. I get what you're saying. But you're not there anymore because you're here, and we're both here together talking."

"God, I've fallen into an episode of Sesame Street, and I can't get out. Bullshit, you get it, Fer. You have no idea what I'm talking about."

Fer went quiet and still, and I thought it was my dismissive attitude that got to him as opposed to my telling him he couldn't understand what I was talking about. I went on, "I'm not playing games, Fer. And there's no ultimatum here. There's not even a fucking choice to make."

Fer snorted in derision. "Of course there are always choices to be made, David."

"Then you make them, Fer. Just like you always do."

"Fuck off," Fer said.

"Fine," I answered, then got up and went to the bedroom. Maybe I could have gone outside if Fer really wanted to be left alone, but I didn't want to get into a habit of storming out whenever Fer and I had a fight. It would be too easy to put up walls of indifference and just refuse to back down. But sitting there with him when we were both hot-headed was totally out of the question. So I just sat on the bed and wished I could get inside Fer's head. I was dying to know what he was thinking.

About a half hour later, I was thinking maybe I should just give Fer's parents a call so they could pick him up. And the second I thought it, I rolled my eyes at myself. I'm so fucking full of shit. I wasn't going to have him leave in the middle of an argument. No point in giving up at this point.

When the door finally opened, I took a deep breath.

Silence greeted me, and I almost turned around to look at Fer, but I resisted and sat there waiting. Finally he said really softly, "You're right. I'm being an asshole, and I'm sorry. But I'm having a hard time with this, David."

I finally turned around and said what he knew I would. "Fer, I never thought it would be easy. But we need to help each other so it shouldn't be so hard, all right?"

He walked up and sat next to me, this time in such an exaggerated defeat that it made me smile. "What in the fuck are we going to do if I become the man you think I am?"

"Most days you already are," I said softly.

"You're such a sap," he said, just as softly. It was quiet for a moment, and I could see him so vividly, his face soft and beautiful and vulnerable, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "Can you help me to bed now?" he whispered, and I did.

When we got settled, Fer continued by apologizing if he'd been really weird for awhile. Then he went off on this tangent about sometimes when something happens so unexpectedly, you have to get to this specific place in your own head before you're able to talk about it and once you get everything settled in your own mind, you can face everyone else and move on. I told him I understood.

Something resembling a smile made a brief appearance on Fer's face then. But he ruined the moment by saying, "I just wish we're back to how it was before..."

Before. Feeling something within me 'ping' at that word, I scowled. I was trying to stave off my own meltdown at least long enough to deal with his, but suddenly, all the tension just exploded out of me. "Like before? You mean like saying we're gonna talk and then fuck instead? Breaking promises to each other? Lying? Acting like everything's okay and then fuck up some more?" I met Fer's questioning gaze steadily, recalling our days together, when we'd misled each other with every thrust, every kiss. "Because that was Before. That's all the shit we did Before. You and me." My voice became steely as the memories of Marcos, Fer and Yoli's lies, my pursuit of Jorge, Borja's appearance, Susana's reappearance, the bisexuality issue, all presented themselves in my brain in a full-color montage.

I was lashing out, but I didn't care. "Before shot everything to crap. Before was one fucked-up situation after another. Before isn't gonna fix things, Fer, because Before hurt. It hurt you, and it...it shattered me to pieces. Time and time again." I looked away then, my voice drifting into a whisper. "You want that again? You want it like Before?" I waited a beat. "Can you seriously say that you want to do things the old way? Because I don't fucking want it, and I'm not gonna do it."

A little harsh, and I knew what I was asking wasn't fair – not to Fer. I was telling him that we couldn't go back there...telling him all that had happened was to be treated as if it was a mistake – because most of it had been. And that he had to shelve all of what had happened there and trust that he wouldn't get hurt again...that wherever we went now – whatever we did, it would not beget the same pain and anger and heartache that had come Before. I was asking Fer to trust me not to lie or hurt him again. Of course I was aware that implicit in that was my own unspoken plea for the same from him – that meant no Borjas, no blind-sided attacks, no thinking everything was okay, but finding out through stolen glances, veiled hints, and the sensation of a half-empty bed, that everything was decidedly not okay.

A slight exhalation of breath and a gentle nod served as an answer. I stared at him, but I couldn't read his look — was it disappointment or was he finally fed up with all these shit. But he responded the way I didn't expect, not with anger, but certainly with resolve. "You're right, David. I don't want it like before. It would probably be best to forget about it."

"Fer, no. We're not gonna just forget it." I refused to set that trap for myself...attempt to bury the vestiges of our relationship as if it'd just been some fucked-up dream. "We're just not gonna repeat it."

He nodded at that and smiled. Then I leaned down to kiss him, and with his gentle encouragement, I covered his mouth and made a damn good pass at swallowing him whole. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him fiercely, maybe almost painfully. I pushed against him, my lips on his throat, and not for the first time, I wondered if maybe it was all a dream, and he was going to evaporate before me.

Just disappear into thin air.

Or maybe I'll wake up in the hospital room, slumped over in my chair, a nurse's insistent hand on my shoulder. And he'll still be in a coma, dead to the world. Or maybe he died that night, cold cement beneath him, my useless panic washing over him unnoticed.

Having those thoughts broke something inside my head. I couldn't get close enough to Fer, and it wasn't something that kissing could fix. I needed…all of him, I needed just fucking all of him and I couldn't get it, and that tore me apart. I don't know how long it went on, but then I realized that Fer was shaking, shuddering, almost inconsolable. I shook my head and concentrated on what he was saying, and what I heard was, "Come on, it's okay. I'm here. It's okay. It's okay."

And then I realized it wasn't Fer who was shaking, it was me. I was clutching him and whispering into his neck, "Don't you leave me, don't ever leave me."

"I won't," Fer whispered back to me. "I won't leave. I'm here, David. I'll always be here."

I couldn't find a way to explain to him exactly what I was feeling; how I felt like I was teetering on the brink of some huge torrent that was going to sweep him away from me again, how scared that made me.

The moment passed, and when I stopped shaking, when I trusted myself to lift up and look at him, he asked, "David, what do you need?"

This was too simple a question for Fer's tastes, and yet too difficult for me to answer right away. What did I need? To forget, to let go, to sleep; a million things too abstract to bother vocalizing, and under normal circumstances I wouldn't have bothered trying.

"You," I told him. Which was the truth in so many ways that even I didn't know which one I meant right at that moment.

He pulled back and gave me another of those intent looks, and it felt like he was looking right into my soul. "I'm here," he said seriously. And I knew that he was answering all of the truths at once.

And after that, it got easier. And maybe that sounds too simple or too pat, and I'm not saying it got perfect, just easier.

Fer and I had taken some kind of quantum leap. That we somehow needed to come to terms with everything, we both knew. That he and I could do that, I had no doubt. I know, back to being a dumb, idealistic kid—that's what I sound like. That's okay. It's what I believed.

Over the next few weeks, Fer and I spent a lot of time talking. Not in a bad way, but...well, at times, I had to remind myself it was _us_, Fer and me, actually spending this much time together, _talking. _Communicating.

And one night, the talk got pretty serious.

"David, I know we're too young and can be a couple of idiots, but we need to talk about what we want out of this relationship from now on."

I turned to face him, my hand dropping into his lap. Comfort? Assurance? Maybe both. But instead of a sign of control, it was just a cover for the complete opposite — vulnerable uncertainty in exactly how to proceed. It had much more to do with throwing up a big wall around our own fucked up shit than anything else.

But after everything we've been through, we did have a shitload of stuff to talk about, so I nodded and said seriously, "Okay, you wanna start?"

He did. "David, we've only been together a short time when you first told me you loved me, and you were still in a slow boil over the fact that you weren't out to your parents because you knew how they'd react. When you said that you loved me after the thing with Marcos, I wasn't sure how to believe you. I told myself I did anyway, but we both know how badly that turned out. When you crashed my wedding with Borja and asked me to marry you, I knew deep inside that your motivation was fucked up. But I wanted to overlook that and brought myself into some fairy tale land, though I know now that neither of us was ready. But we're here tonight with no guns going off, no other person in the way, no mistrust or fear underlying our motivations, just the two of us. I need you to tell me exactly what you want from me, as if we lived in a perfect world."

I winced, from pain, or from emotional burden, or both. I settled back quietly, resting my hand on his arm. "I don't want to lose you. Lose this, what we have. That much I know."

Fer nodded. "Neither do I."

The accompanying silence was heavy and dark and there were a million more things I wanted to say to him, that I wanted him to know, that I wanted him to feel. But my mind felt like a steel trap from all the fucking stupid things I've ever said. Shit. What the fuck? Deep breath. Okay. Okay.

I went on. "I love you, Fer. You don't even know how much, you can't. Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind."

And it was the truth. Fer was, and is, the love of my life. Something about opposites attract and truth being stranger than fiction.

"I'm not happy without you," I continued. "I don't know what that means for us, but I don't want to live that way ever again."

With that thought, I could feel my anger, my anguish, my self-destruction, simmering beneath the surface. It all became understandable in context. There'd been times when I was convinced that uncertainty was the keynote of my life, and that learning to live with it instead of trying to ignore it would be the greatest positive change I could make.

But then there were times when I wasn't even sure if I was answering the right questions.

I took a deep breath. "Fer, I don't know if I'll ever have the guts to do this kind of thing again to this extent. But since you asked, just let me talk now, okay?"

Fer nodded. "Okay."

After taking some time to gather my wits, I began. "Fer, I want to be with you. No matter how many people are around, if you're not one of them, it's not the same. I want to know that when the lights go off and when I wake up, you're sharing this bed with me. I want you to be who you are and be okay with that. You being you is why I'm with you and it's the reason why I want to be with you. If I don't believe that, then what's the point to anything?" He smiled at that.

I pursed my lips and continued. "I accept that it would take a lot of freedom and time to figure out what we need to do from now on, and life sucks sometimes and stupid shit happens, but I swear I'm striving to grow the fuck up. Seriously, we need to make this work."

I met Fer's stare and got so choked up on unbidden emotion that I couldn't even speak anymore, but I urged myself to continue. "Everyday, I'm finding out what those words you said on the night you got shot really mean to me. What they mean to my life. To our relationship. For our future. Those words meant a lot, Fer. They still do. I think of that moment every day. And I keep reminding myself that you're here with me, that those words don't mean the end of everything we have."

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and resolved not to look away. Didn't matter that there were tears threatening to fall down my face, didn't matter that some part of my soul bled to remember that night. Nothing mattered except that my eyes remained locked on Fer's face.

I laid myself open like I never thought I could. More than a whispered, "I love you" or a determined proposal of marriage, this time I told him everything. I did it. For better or worse, he knew the whole truth.

And they were the truth.

I love him.

Reaching up, Fer grasped my chin in his fingers and planted a soft kiss on my mouth. Tender yet raw, it said everything and nothing at once, and held more power than anything else in the world. I felt weak, dizzy, powerless...but *powerful*.

I felt whole.

And I knew he did, too.

"My turn?" he asked.

"Yes," I whispered.

"You know I would rather be with you, even when I'm not, right?"

I nodded.

"Good, because that's the truth. I love you, David. The way you came out, the way you stood up to your parents, the way you call me on my shit," he said with a smile. "I love the way you had the balls to come after me. I love that you tried to get me back after that shit with Marcos, how you wouldn't let me walk away. I love the way you play me, sometimes, reminding me of what matters, of who matters. I love knowing that even when we were broken up, you still loved me. I love that you're the most ridiculously romantic man in the world. I love your toughness, how you always try to protect me. I love that you saw who I was and still wanted what you found there."

Fer was on a roll, but I guess there were things that he needed to say. And maybe some that I might have needed to hear.

He sighed. "We fucked things up a lot, but when we got back together after Borja, I thought I knew what to expect."

That surprised me.

"What did you hear me saying, Fer? Really."

"I heard that you expected that I would take my time, on my terms, with whatever happens between us, and that you realized how fucked up and difficult I can be and you promised me you would be patient."

"You heard that?" That stopped Fer's furious momentum.

"Yes. That's what I heard. But now I'm wondering why I expected you to just accept all the hard stuff, but when I couldn't even..." He paused.

I glanced over at him, not sure what I'd see there, and he had this look on his face. It was the look he gets when he knows something is going on that isn't obvious and you know that his mind is going about a hundred miles an hour figuring out just what the hell it is.

He shrugged. "...those dreams of yours. I guess they made me feel inadequate."

"You're not. They weren't about you."

"I _knew_ that. But I didn't _feel_ it."

"Fer, look. Those dreams didn't mean anything. I just thought something was happening, but nothing was happening, and then other stuff was happening…"

"Oh. Thanks for clearing that up."

"I told you…"

"I know what you said!" Fer bit off. "David, I know what you said," he continued, more gently. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. We already talked about this. And I have nothing against bisexuality anyway."

"Then what the fuck?"

Fer scratched his head and shrugged. "Thought you'd figured out by now that I can be a little inconsistent, David. Especially when I'm trying to prove a point."

Okay, that was irritating, but whatever. I let it go. Time to move on. We brought each other to talk — we needed to talk. I'd _promised_. And dammit, that's what I was going to do. There were so much else to talk about.

I figured it'd be better if we went back to the beginning, so I tried to think back to the first time we were together, though mostly what I remembered was hurting him. Not the individual hurts, mind you, just the overall sensation of hurting him.

"Remember that time in the locker room?" I asked quietly.

Fer just looked confused.

The heavens didn't rain fire down on my head, so I continued. "I spent the day playing basketball, and when it was my time to shower, I found myself thinking about you. Then you came in, and I told you about Gorka and some fucking thing about being scared of getting outed...and you pretty much told me to shut the fuck up and get over it." I grinned, and got a tentative smile in return. "I went home after that, wondering what the fuck I was supposed to do with my stupid ass life."

I tried. I really tried. I tried to convince myself that none of it was real, that I could stop being gay. And for a little while I think I managed to convince myself that I'd convinced myself, but deep down, where I hid all the things I didn't want to think about, I knew it was as real as anything else. It felt like withdrawing from the strongest drug of all. I'd wake up in cold sweats, feeling bad for Fer, for Ruth, for myself, aching for something I'd lost, but in reality never had. This was before Fer and I got together, long before I ever suspected that the strange sort of salvation that Fer gave me was possible. And when I finally got my shit together and let Fer into my life, they faded. They diminished in power every time I found myself next to him and used his skin and lips to drive them away. I felt hope. It was just another way Fer had set himself apart from every other person in my life – or, for that matter, any other person I had ever known – intimately or otherwise.

When I got together with Fer, I remembered feeling not lost at all anymore. I remembered feeling like Fer and this life were all I ever wanted. But most of all, I remembered feeling like he'd given me a tiny piece of himself. That he'd shown me something, given me something that maybe he hadn't really meant to, but ended up giving me anyway.

And I knew now that I somehow had to find a way to show him, make him know, about all of this. "Fer, I know it's dumb to bring these things up now, but you asked me to talk, right?"

"I did," he answered.

I lifted myself up and leaned against the head of the bed. "This will sound really corny, but I need you to listen to this."

He nodded, then waited. I squeezed his fingers in mine. "When I was with you the first time, I had belief. We were born to be together. That wasn't just drunken drivel, Fer. I really believed it. No one could stop me. Not you, not my parents, nobody. I knew, deep in my heart, that you were the one, and the more you let me around you, the more I was sure that you felt the same way. I knew it, everything in me shouted it. It wasn't just that I wanted you, it was that our lives wouldn't be right if we weren't together. The Universe would weep, it was The Truth, not just my truth, but really, really the truest thing I had ever encountered. And all I had to do was to convince you and you would get it. How could you not? It was the truth, no bullshit."

Fer opened up his mouth, but I held up my hand while looking away. "But I fucked up, I know. I...I cheated, and there's no way in hell I'd ever want to justify what I did. But this isn't about that."

I managed to meet his eyes again. "Even then, I still believed in us, but the thing is, after you took me back, I'd wake up freaking out that maybe you'd think I was wrong, about everything. It was just me, all along. I was really scared."

"Yeah, I know," Fer said, quietly.

"And I started acting like an asshole, because I was terrified you were gonna call me on it, tell me I was full of shit, just completely wrong, all along. And that would be the end of it."

I closed my eyes, felt a pressure building inside me, nowhere to go.

"And I was right. More fucked up things happened between us. You managed to hurt me in ways I never thought possible. And yes, some angry bitter thoughts came to me when you did, but Fer, we both managed to piss on what we had. And even after we got back together after Borja, I still lied to you all the damn time even about the smallest things. At the time, I told myself it was because you had your issues and that it wasn't worth it to make you more suspicious or upset about anything, but I know now that's a damn cop-out."

Fer didn't say a word. Just stared at me. Then...his eyes went wide and for a moment I thought he was going to faint or have a fucking panic attack. But I reminded myself that this isn't some drama queen I was talking to. This is a man who's tougher than I have ever been.

"Fer..." I touched his knee. "We were young. We still are. I think we both knew it was going to be hard. Harder for me, you being my first gay relationship. My first love, period. And it was, but not in the way that you think. The thing though is that you taught me to take certain things more or less for granted."

He looked down, then up at me through his eyelashes in that way he has when he's trying to say something, but doesn't have the words, and just wants me to know. I put my arm across him and my head on his shoulder.

"Tired?" he asked.

"A little, but…"

"David, we could continue tomorrow."

"No...I want to finish."

He didn't say anything, but I felt his face brush my hair.

I took a deep breath.

"Fer, do you know how much it meant to me when you supported me during my parents' divorce and HIV scare and that motorbike accident? When I felt so useless and damaged and you sought me out and stood by me and made me feel...not just safe, but... like I could learn to be myself again?"

"During those times...I wanted to bail," I told him bluntly. "But I didn't. Because you took me on. Even though you were still with Borja, you never abandoned me, and you were willing to risk your relationship with him for what you felt I needed."

Emotions, thoughts, things I needed to say flooded through me and clogged my tongue. I needed … *needed* to say these things to this beautiful idiot who not only supported me through my life, but also helped me claim it back. This amazing, loving jackass who helped me heal and did what he could so that I wouldn't be alone, so that I didn't have to stumble my way back to life alone.

"Do you know how that made me feel? How valued you made me feel...when you didn't just toss me away like a piece of garbage you had every right to treat me as?"

I put our hands on my thigh, squeezing his fingers hard. "Everything you did for me made me know that I had value to you that wasn't just about being a good fuck, or even being your friend. That I had value just for being me. Not for anything I gave you, or anything you got from me. Not as a trophy boyfriend. Just as me."

"You'd showed me that I meant something. So..." I shrugged. "After I got into the accident, I decided to stop the self-destructive shit. I tried to be brave. I put on a happy face all the time, though for none of the same reasons that I used to. And for a while it was like going into limbo, but not really. It's more like it took me a while to come out again. To come back to being me again. And when I did…"

"When I did," I repeated, "it hurt. Because I'd lost you already. I'd made the biggest fucking mistake I could ever make in my life, and I'd lost you."

Fer smiled, a slow, sweet smile. "Not really," was all he said. I shook my head, feeling kind of helpless, not really believing him, but how hard do you argue over that kind of thing? I gave a half-hearted smile and wrapped my arms around him, tight enough that I could feel his heart beating against mine.

As if reading my other thoughts, Fer said seriously, "There'll always be some asshole trying to fuck things up for us, David." He gave a bitter grin. "Half the time it will be me."

He looked at me and his grin softened into something kinder. "Or you."

He went on. "We'd find new mistakes to make. New ways to be complete and utter assholes to each other. New ways to totally fuck up sometimes. But we can't let anything take this away from us, no matter what happens, how fucking hard things might become, because of how much…how much it costs."

I just sat there, kind of...kind of paralyzed by the way Fer was looking at me — it was all sort of tender, but somewhere in there, it was kind of like he was sorry too, sort of like he was apologizing. "And I need to say this, David. The gunshot isn't *taking* anything from us," he said. "We'll give it what we have to so we get over this, but it's not taking a fucking thing from us, all right?"

I know my face gave away more than I wanted it to, but I was able to nod before pulling him down for a kiss. "I love you, Fer," I whispered against his lips.

And heard a thousand answering `I love you's' in his breathing and felt them in the tremors that were shaking us both.

It was time then, and the bedroom was the place where we could do it, where a blowjob could mean, "You're still beautiful," and Fer's hands on my ass could mean "We're going to be fine," and a frantic face-to-face fuck could mean "I love you" and "Thank you" and "I'm not going anywhere."

Here, more than with words or prayers, I could feel strong, could figure out exactly what Fer wanted and needed, and could give him just that. And he would smile at me, gentle and open, and I'd feel free, like the weight of terror and despair had finally been lifted.

There was no time to think about what everything meant or the hundreds of nightmares that came to us both. This was about fixing what we could. This is about what we wanted. More than enough, it was everything.

When I pressed inside him, it's like every time we've ever been together, easy and hot and painful in a way that getting shot in the chest wasn't, that staying up next to a hospital bed for two entire months couldn't even come close to.

And when I came, I cried out his name and knew that he knew — that it's gone, that we're going to be okay, that we could finally start to move on. It's a thousand different kinds of release all at once, and I knew then that Fer wasn't the only one in need of absolution.

* * *

My dad told me once, when I was a kid, that no one changes for anyone else. People change because they have to. Now though, I'm not sure how right he is about that.

My life was always going to change in those years — finishing _Bachillerato_, starting college or university — all of that was always going to bring big changes. But knowing Fer has changed me — not just the external obvious things, but the deep down part of me. That part that felt an urge that I couldn't quite explain just to exist in the same space as him, even for a little while. That deepest part of me has changed because meeting Fer gave that inner core of me a sense of validation that nothing, not my father's affair, not my mother's disapproval, not my asshole jock friends, not my parents' divorce, nothing, has really been able to shake. Fer was able to look straight into the places inside me that nobody, not one, has ever seen. And the whole experience of being with someone in that way, being desired by another man who has already learned to acknowledge and respect himself and his life as a gay man, had somehow made me feel like it was okay for me to do that, too. And when I did, when I eventually stopped fighting, it didn't feel like surrender in any way. It felt like freedom, and to the end of my life and beyond I'll always be grateful to Fer for that alone.

But he's changed too because of me and I'd like to hope and think it was kind of for the same reason - that knowing me has validated something in him that he'd never had any confidence in before that. I hope knowing me has made him realize what a good person he really is, how much he helps people, how lucky everyone is to have him around. I'd like to think that my love for him has helped him feel how amazing he is, that he's deserving of being loved as much as anyone ever could. I hope that Fer knows that now about himself. And that I've helped in that a little at least.

And now I'm here with Fer, and if I still had any of the belief my mother tried to cram into me, I'd say this was what I think Heaven would be like. I'd say Heaven isn't some field full of flowers, or any of that angel-on-a-cloud shit. Heaven is that moment when I'm with Fer, and he's right there with me, when the endorphins are flooding through our systems because he's in my arms and I'm in his and …

Well, that's what Heaven would be like.

As for Hell, well, I've been there already. Seen it. Felt it. Hell is kneeling on a hallway floor watching your whole life, all the love and warmth and hope in your life, bleeding out of the broken shell of a man who was the love of your life. And you'd let it all go, give it all up, all of it, everything, if the bleeding would just stop and he'd look up at you and be all right. But it doesn't, the blood keeps spilling, soaking everything so that for days, weeks, everything seems to smell of his blood. And Hell is watching his face go colder than any stranger's as you meet his eyes across a great cavern of emptiness, empty because he's gone. Hell is watching him walk away from you. Hell is a half-empty closet and a half-empty side of the bed and a silent cave that used to be your home, the home you once shared with him. I've been to Hell. And I'm not going back. I can't. I won't. I will not lose Fer again.

I lean down close, and Fer takes the kiss I'm offering him, and he tastes like something called 'bravery'...called 'tenacity'...called 'love.' I thought I knew what those things were, but I couldn't have. I had no idea...not until I met Fer.

So now, I stay with him, everyday, to make him remember those lessons.

And he stays with me, everyday, so I won't forget them.

No more silence.

No more tears.

No regrets.


	11. Epilogue: Fer and David

**FER'S POV**

I've always been convinced that David and I were something special. There was a time, long ago, when I was too young and idealistic and naive, that I imagined, more or less, that we were meant to declare our everlasting love for each other on a starry night with moonlight and roses and possibly fireworks. We were meant to dance the night away in each other's arms, like in all those telenovelas my mom used to watch. Sometimes when I daydreamed in class, I'd imagine being with David under a rose-encrusted arbor. I'd even have dreams about being a male, tanner, taller version of Snow White, and David would come along, give me the kiss of life, before we ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after.

Needless to say, it didn't all happen that way, but so far, so good, is the best thing that I can say about how things have been between myself and David since I woke up from the coma. There weren't words to tell him how it all really felt. How it made it seem like everything we'd been through, all the fucking angst and pain actually meant something. Like we weren't total losers for hanging on, because suddenly we found ourselves where we'd always hoped we could get to. I couldn't say those things to him, because he had to go through just as much pain and angst, and I didn't want him to think as if we had to be some sort of martyrs, that we had to sacrifice and suffer just to be with each other.

I know how I felt during my near-death when I was damn convinced that David and I had finally completely lost each other. And I know how I felt when I woke up and we got back together, how it was so fucking good between us. The moment when we learned to love each other, really love each other, not just romance or lust or any of those things, but real, honest to God, Princess Bride true love. (David would laugh if I said that to him, but it's true.)

David knew things this time aren't going to be like they were our first or second time out, but I don't think he anticipated quite how different they'd be. Or maybe how different I was. But I'd worked on myself in the time that was given to us. Maybe that sounds dumb or self-involved or something, but after I woke up, I resolved to consciously choose to be the person I am. I'm not trying to be all new age-y or anything like that. I understand that people are a product of their genes, their environment, their culture, their friends, all that. But then you take having a near-death experience into consideration, and you think about who it makes you and what it all means and then you decide who you're going to be because of it. Or maybe, in spite of it.

When I recovered, I started living my life the way I suddenly knew I was meant to. I understood myself better, became more comfortable in my place in the world and went on with more inner peace. Waking up meant I had control back, and I started realizing some things that I didn't even know I'd been running from. Like the fact that I'd been happy all along, because I have found love and how good it is to have that be all that there is and all that matters. That I finally recognized the value of time and absolution. That sometimes asking for forgiveness and granting it is the ultimate act of taking responsibility. And that sometimes life may not always be as great as we liked to pretend, but fuck if we're not going to take the best out of it.

Fate and circumstance had stripped me of all of the things I was afraid to let go of and allowed me to embark on a real trip. One that had actual promises in it. Promises I could keep to myself. To David. Accomplishments, not mere distractions. With real and actual happiness.

David and I have managed to drag each other's asses out of more problems than either of us should have ever had to deal with, and we'd developed the confidence and belief in our abilities to sustain our relationship. We have a long fucking road ahead of us, but we can see it all with crystal clear clarity, a million technicolor dots coming together to create a life for us…and we both know that we can make it.

I learned that, if the primary struggle for me was to believe in our future, to detoxify the idea of happiness, comfort, safety, trust, and love, to allow myself to believe in something bigger than my self-protection, it's clear that my near-death experience was literally and symbolically the main instrument by which that change had been delivered. It's not that it made me into something I wasn't before. Instead, it made my existing pathologies - ones which David didn't have anymore, due to his developed trust of our relationship and his sense of identity and worth in it - both weaker and more transparent.

It will always be one of those moments I return to from time to time, wondering what would have happened had the school shooting never happened, had the reality of it not blown everyone away so completely.

Would all these have transpired anyway eventually, or was it one of those moments that had to occur so that everything else could follow? There's no conclusion to draw, of course, and that kind of reflection is pointless at best, self-destructive at worst.

I feel David wake up now and I turn to him to try to find some insight to my thoughts, and as his eyes meet mine and his lips give me one of those smiles, I realize I don't have to. There aren't any definitive answers. It's something that's just there between us; has been since we first met, although what we felt then was only a glimmer of what's grown between us since.

David isn't all he needs, I'm not all I need. But he doesn't "need" me, and I don't need him. I need…us; this whatever it is between us, that's what I need. We both do. That's the major secret that made this completely fucking ridiculous Thing work.

There was a time when that realization would have been enough to make me run away as hard as I could, or to find my destiny somewhere else. I would rather have jumped off a cliff rather than fall deeper and deeper while sitting around and waiting for him to be the one to step away from me. But not anymore.

I learned that much at least from the whole tragedy of the school attack. It didn't just hurt because I had a fucking bullet lodged in my chest, but also because all thoughts I was left with at the time were `what if?' and `if fucking only'.

Well, not anymore. No `if onlys'. This time, I'm not going to leave David in any fucking doubt that I am trusting and loving him in all the ways that I can, and that I plan to go on doing that as long as I have breath. I'm not going to have him drift away because he thinks the future with me is limited to what we've had in the past.

There are no limits to what David and I can have, what we can be.

None.

I pull back a little now so that I can look at him, and he touches his forehead against the side of my head and rubs his cheek against mine, and suddenly the world is just so fucking wonderful and I realize that I don't regret one single twinge of the pain that long ago Fer went through. Because all of them, added up, somehow got me, got us, here.

If I'd been able to somehow read back in the script and find out that this moment in time would have been preceded by days of heartbreak, paranoia and painful break-ups, and that after all those there'll be a night of attack where I'll get shot in the chest resulting in a weeks-long coma, I would have thought that the apocalypse finally fucking happened. That we'd really crashed and burned somehow. And that I'd be so desperately miserable that even finally waking up wouldn't have helped.

Which just goes to show.

Because the reality right now is that I'm having trouble setting one foot in front of the other because I'm so giddy with sheer happiness. It somehow laid balm on a wound that David and I had been carrying, until we did everything the way we never had the courage to do before and healed it.

Of course, David being David, and me being me, it isn't always going to be rainbows and sunshine, but at least I know now that sometimes it can be, and sometimes it will be, and when it isn't, we'll have that to hold on to.

So now I really am okay with things the way they are. It's hard to explain, but a lot of what was wrong the first time around wasn't just that David wasn't what I wanted him to be, it was that I couldn't be to him what I wanted to be. Well, now, I am. It sounds simplistic, but I know in my heart that everything I want to be to David, everything I need to be to him, I am now. I don't lose sleep over what he might be doing every second of the day because I know now beyond any shadow of a doubt where we stand.

What also changed is that I finally figured out what compromising meant. It doesn't mean trying to make someone into some ideal or trying to change stuff around because you're too blind to realize you have everything you could ever ask for. It means working together and being real with each other about expectations and goals and desires. It means work, real work, hard work. It means devotion, and sticking your nose to the grindstone. It's blood, sweat, and tears. It's feeling like you're taking on "just one more thing" until you're ready to break. It takes years of everything you can give. Love requires all of those things and more to work properly, and when it does work? It's amazing.

David wouldn't love me without reason, and although I still am not really sure about all the whys and hows, I have learned to accept it and let myself be loved and not run away from it. I had learned it over the years, and maybe that's my biggest achievement of all. To become the man I had fought so many years to turn into, and to have the guts to eventually recognize and accept it. Embrace it.

David and I know how this works now. Understand it. Accept it. Are fine with it. I think about everything we've been through, all the ways he keeps surprising me and the ways he doesn't surprise me at all. I imagine the world around us going smaller and bigger and more and more overwhelming, and it should be scary, but it really isn't. Because at the center of it all is just me and David. And David and I are okay. We're good. We're on our way. We're brilliant.

David and I will always be together, through the tying of loose ends, the farewell to old shadows, and the acknowledgement of things that have changed and things that have stayed the same.

* * *

**DAVID'S POV**

The night of Fer's 20th birthday, we were snuggled up in bed when I whispered, "I really want to marry you, you know," to which he replied, "Don't worry, you will."

Seven years later, I did.

"Long live the grooms!" Yoli was grinning like it was the best thing that's ever happened to her. "Well, fuck, it's about time!" She wagged her finger at the both of us. "You two better fly right or I'll kick both your asses!"

Before that, people always asked us what took so long considering everything we've been through and how intense we felt for each other, but Fer and I both agreed that we had to be somewhere in our lives and in our heads - some fucking place we weren't yet at the time - then we'd get married. What the fuck, we could wait.

That said, people only live once and there are no prizes at the end. With that knowledge, we put all our time and effort into nurturing and relishing our relationship the way we never seemed able to pull off the first time we were together.

Mostly it was because of Fer. Whatever he experienced while he was in that coma had changed him irrevocably. It's not like he became a different person altogether, but he just became more...calm and accepting. I'd like to claim some credit in not giving him any more reasons to flip the fuck out over things, but it was coming mostly from him. He felt more sure and more peaceful than he had any of the other million times we'd done things in the years prior, and in the process, he made me feel like I'd given him...something. And I guess I had.

I fucking behaved myself, too. Okay, I'd be a total liar if I said that I hadn't had more than a few moments of fear over what would happen if I ever fucked up again; by being a stupid fucking asshole as I could really be sometimes. But...

I always remembered what it was like…how it felt every night Fer had to walk away from me, because he was going to spend the rest of it with someone else. I also got constant flashes of how he looked as he bled from the chest, how it felt through all the fucking centuries after that before he came back to me. I guess that if I was ever tempted to stuff things up again, all I had to do was remember those feelings, because there weren't many things that could make my dick go soft faster.

So we were on the same course, the same page, not pulling in different directions - or me pulling and Fer resisting, or him pushing and me trying to resist. Communication, honesty, trustworthiness, maturity, and reliability all came with time, effort and patience. Slow hands and warm mouths and something much more than we'd ever had together made everything feel a lot better and different.

Everything was going along the way we both knew it was meant to, so we'd finally proposed and gotten married. Marina presided over the ceremony, as much as it shits me to even remember that. After all the years, her expectations of me and Fer 'assuming' more in our relationship were finally rewarded.

And now, here we are, three years later.

Earlier on, Fer and I have tried, followed, and broken different sets of rules. Not everything always worked out how we thought it would, and there were so much more than broken rules. There were money issues and suppressed aggressions, there was a re-appearing ex-girlfriend and sexual identity crisis, there was another separation, and, once, there was nothing left at all.

But this time it isn't about the infatuation of those early days with our exaggerated emotional highs and lows, nor the calmer contentment of those months after he woke up where the highs and lows have been principally those of passion – amazing orgasms followed by the downer of the "almost death" that invariably followed our memories.

We aren't locked in those lives anymore. Living together this time is easy, we orbit around each other in neat, uncomplicated ellipses, both careful and sensitive enough to give each other the room needed to maneuver without trampling upon one another.

We still argue, sometimes in flashes of annoyance and frustration, occasionally in bitter silences and angry looks, but we also realize that we know more than anyone the value of second chances. We might disagree about ideas or behaviors, but we never disagree about whether or not we should be together.

There's never been any doubt about it, about this relationship that Fer and I share. It wasn't temporary, it wasn't guilt-based, it wasn't about confusion. It wasn't even about sex. And though I'm still not sure what other people think love is, I know what it is for me.

For me it's about trusting that the other person will want you to do what's right for you, that they'll support you and go on loving you; and that you will each be able to be yourself, more than ever, because you support each other to do that. I know that no matter what happens in the future, we both trust each other now in ways that we never believed we would ever be ready to trust anybody else - not even each other - before. I know that I would literally be ready to die to protect him, and I found out the hard way that it's the same for him.

We're not Romeo and Juliet, but I know that Fer was the one who had provided most of my lessons on the tragedy and triumph of true love. I learned about freedom from how Fer has always encouraged me, forced me even, to pursue my own dreams in my own way. I learned about support from how he has always supported me in all the things that mattered.

For all his shortcomings, for all his fears and insecurities and just plain idiocies, Fer had always been the rock of my life. He'd supported me through so many things, and I've tried to do the same for him, tried to make sure that he took advantage of all the chances that came his way, tried to support him in doing that.

Now, our lives aren't about an insecure fear of loss, or the closeness of death, or boredom. Finally, ultimately, it is about who we love, and why - and how that still makes us feel like we want more from each other. Always more.

The beginning journey had been fucking tough, and although I know that there'd always be a little ache that Fer and I never really had the most ideal relationship that anyone could imagine, it all wasn't an unpleasant sensation. I could almost - _almost_ - look upon those years of difficult love with a kind of affection - affection for the feelings themselves and for the boys we'd been when we had them.

Fer is here with me now, and this time he's really staying. This time it's not "until he gets better", or "until he wakes up to what a total fucking disaster of a relationship you two have", or "until he finds out all the great things that are out there waiting for him". I know that right now, he is smiling, sated and sleepy and feeling the same as me... knows there are plans for tomorrow, the future, whatever lies beyond. Knows this feeling inside my chest that I've had the night we met and all the nights after that.

I let myself press closer to him, and nuzzle into his neck. His arm is snug around my waist, his hand firmly gripping mine, and it reminds me of that day we scrawled our names on that overpass. And I feel the same way. For the same reason.

Fer. Loving Fer makes me feel like this.

"Fer," I whisper. "Fer."

Because that word is all of it - our first meeting and our first kiss and our sexy nights and my coming out and the time after that and all the shit we put each other through and being away from each other and taking each other back and nearly losing him for real and the moment he finally woke up and waking up together and getting married and both my parents being there and dinners at his parents' and days spent playing video games and night after night after night spent here, in each other's arms.

'Fer' is everything I could possibly say about all of that in one word.

It's Fer that I came to believe in. It's Fer that I can't bear to lose. It's Fer that I'm always gonna come back to, live with, and love.

And I know I have to protect that love, defend that love, cherish that love, and keep that love deep deep inside my heart and carry it forever.

We've gone through breakups and reunions, failures and successes, sadnesses and joys, we've hated each other and loved each other and felt more passion and elation in the years we've been together than some people feel in their whole lives. And I feel lucky for it. Privileged to live my life with him. Ecstatic that we have so much more left to share. I thought that the world has ended before, but I knew nothing then. Now I know that the world, my life, starts itself over and over again, a million times a day.

My stomach dips like they are racing down the hill of a giant roller coaster, and I catch my breath at the pleasure of just being here with him, without any of the baggage that had been collecting around us for so long. I look over and feel again that swell of tenderness that only Fer has awakened in me, and realize with a profound sense of gratitude that the reality of my life, of our lives, is far better than any nightmare or fantasy I'd ever imagined.

Because Fer and I were born to be together.


End file.
